


Professor Layton and the Song of the Ancients

by a_mere_trifle



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Character Death, Child Murder, Gen, General Trauma, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Psychological Trauma, Suicide, no seriously character death, specific trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: [Post-Azran Legacy; crossover with Nier: Automata]“I just wish Aurora could have lived.” When Luke voices that wish to the wrong (right?) person, he has no idea the cost of his dream would be an adventure that would push the Professor to his very limits...





	1. Branch A/B | The Wretched Automatons

**Author's Note:**

> So: this is essentially a retelling of Azran Legacy, which will make it quite a spoiler-filled and tricky read if you haven't played that game (or otherwise familiarized yourself with its plot. I'm huge on Let's Plays, I won't judge). It should, however, still be fairly comprehensible without knowledge of Nier:Automata canon (eventually, anyway). However, if you aren't familiar with the Nier/Drakengard universe, you... should make very, very certain to read the tags. The tags are dead serious and not hyperbolic at all.
> 
> For those who are familiar enough with said universe to realize with a slowly dawning horror what I've done, I apologize.
> 
> Also, I started writing it before I discovered [it actually has a theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmRjLmtDIaY).

Luke woke as he’d woken for weeks now, the light streaming through his window a cruel echo of the light in his nightmares, the sheets tangled up around his legs. He glared at the window, breathing heavily, as his heartbeat showed no signs of slowing. He thought he’d finally fixed the damn curtain. He should probably ask for help with it. Maybe they wouldn’t understand why.

He didn’t want anyone to know it was still hurting him this way.

Right. That was then. This was now. He threw himself into his morning chores, as quickly as his sleep (or lack of sleep) fogged head would allow. He was staying with his mother at the moment-- she’d talked about staying in London for a while, getting him a new set of clothes-- but the Professor had promised to come over today, and he didn’t want to be late.

Sure enough, he’d barely finished his breakfast when a knock came on the door. He grabbed his new satchel and answered it. “Hello, Professor!”

“Luke, my boy,” said Professor Layton, looking down at him with a smile. “You’re certainly wasting no time this morning.”

“Professor Layton’s apprentice must always be ready for adventure!”

“I’m afraid I’ve no adventure planned for today,” said Layton, with a chuckle. “Just a couple of errands, really. I’m afraid you might be frightfully bored.”

“Nothing to worry about!” Luke shut the door behind him, following Layton eagerly. Moving helped. New things helped. Pretending everything was fine, and Emmy hadn’t betrayed them and Aurora wasn’t dead and the Professor’s father wasn’t a psychopath and his brother wasn’t Jean Descole-- that helped most of all.

The sun was bright today. Luke dove into the heat of it-- he’d been making an effort to get out in the sun, and it was a little easier every time-- but kept his eyes to the shade. “So what are we doing today, Professor?”

“I’m going to see an old friend of mine,” said the Professor. “She’s a seller of antiquities, and she’d like my help evaluating some of her artefacts.”

“What kind of artefacts?”

“Oh, there’s never any telling, with her. But I fear you might be at loose ends while we work. Her wares tend to be fragile… or dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Luke tilted his head, intrigued.

“She has decidedly odd taste in stock. I don’t know if you’d much enjoy her shop… but there must be something in the area that could entertain you.” Indeed, the district they were entering looked quite interesting; it was filled with small, cluttered shops of all stripes. Mostly antiques, but Luke kept a sharp eye out for candy or toys. He spotted one dilapidated rocking horse in the window of an antiques store, but that wasn’t particularly promising. Not that he would be interested in a toy store, anyway. He was far too old for that. Particularly these days.

“Here we are,” said the Professor, and opened a door under a green awning. Luke looked around; he hadn’t seen the name of the shop posted anywhere. But he was quickly distracted by that from the shop’s contents. The place boasted white walls and wooden floors, but was largely bare, particularly compared to the stores they’d been passing. All the boxes and detritus were neatly segregated behind the scenes. There was a large, undecorated empty space in front of her glass counters, and what was behind those counters, and hung on the walls--

Luke leaned forward, fascinated. These all seemed to be blades. Antique-looking blades. Swords and daggers and blades he couldn’t even put a name to.

“She’s probably been distracted by something in the back again,” said the Professor. “I’ll go find her. If you’ve nothing to do, you should explore the area. But don’t go too far. I’m sure I’ll be done before lunchtime.”

“All right,” said Luke. The Professor squeezed by the till, ducking behind a heavy green curtain. Luke turned his eyes back toward the blades, slightly repelled, but mostly intrigued. They glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the windows; there were more than blades, too, he noticed now, though he couldn’t put a name to half of them. Maybe one put them on one’s fists? And then there were spears, and a lead pipe, and a rusty hunk of metal bigger than Luke that hardly seemed to hold an edge--

“Why, hello there.”

Luke looked up. There was a bespectacled woman at the counter, smiling down at him. Odd; he could’ve sworn the room was empty. “Hello,” he said, cautiously. “D’you work here?”

“I do.” The woman set a box and a book on the counter. Her skirt was neat and tweed, her shirt was white and starched, and her long black hair was in two tails at the back of her neck. He’d seen stranger looking people for certain, but somehow, something about her still struck him as decidedly odd. But that was impolite. “I’m Accord.”

“I’m Luke,” he said.

“Luke. What brings you to my shop?”

“Just looking around,” he said. “My… I’m Professor Layton’s apprentice, and he’s helping someone here.” Unless she was the friend? But surely she’d have seen him on her way out. Probably she just worked here.

“I see,” she said, and smiled. She seemed to be the type that was always smiling. “See anything interesting?”

“I don’t know what most of these are,” he admitted. Which was, in and of itself, interesting.

“Not many people do.” She tidied a couple of smaller blades behind the counter.

“Why are there so many weapons?” He couldn’t imagine there was much of a market for antique weapons, but then again, there was no accounting for taste.

“It’s a bit of a family tradition.” She smiled at him, tilting her head. “Every one of these has a story behind it, you know.”

“I guess they would.” He looked again at the gigantic hunk of rust that might once have been a sword. Was that all rust, actually? “I don’t know if they’d be nice stories, though.”

“Oh, downright awful, the lot of ‘em,” she said, cheerfully. “Nice stories are hard to find.”

“Maybe they are,” Luke sighed.

She tilted her head. “Is something bothering you?”

He’d said too much. Then again, what harm could it do to say more? “It’s just… the last story I was in, didn’t have much of a happy ending.”

“How so?”

“I mean, the world didn’t end,” said Luke, “but there was a very nice girl, who didn’t do anything wrong, and she’s gone forever.”

He worried after he said it that it might come off as strange, but the woman seemed unfazed. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“She was just learning what life was like, too,” said Luke. “I just wish it could’ve turned out differently.”

“Do you?”

Something about the tone of her voice struck Luke as odd. He looked up at her, curious what it was. “Well, of course.”

“Are you really sure, though?” said Accord. She was still smiling, but Luke thought there was something a little different about it now. “That sounds like it could be dangerous.”

“How so?”

“Well, you know what they say,” said Accord, raising a lecturing hand. “Be careful what you wish for.”

He’d heard that, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever understood it. “How could wanting someone to live be a bad thing?”

“I’m not saying that it is, but these things can have unintended consequences, you know.”

“It would be worth it,” said Luke. “I’m sure of it.”

Accord looked to her left, then to her right. “You know, Luke,” she said. “I’m going to show you something.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s something very special,” said Accord. “Something no one’s ever going to believe, if you tell them. Something you might not even believe tomorrow.”

This could be alarming, but she was just a friendly shop-hand, and Luke’s curiosity was piqued. “What is it?”

Accord patted the thick book she’d set on the counter. “Aside from being a shop-owner,” said Accord, “I’m also a recorder. I keep an awful lot of records here. What would you say, Luke, if I told you I could show you another ending?”

Luke frowned. “I’d be really confused.”

Accord opened the book, turning slowly through the pages. “What if I told you that every choice you make has the potential to create another world?”

“Like… parallel universes?” Luke had read about the idea in a story or two.

“If you had the choice to wear red or blue,” she said, “and today you picked blue, but you could just as easily have picked red-- just a hop and a skip away, there’s a world exactly the same as our own, except you’re wearing red. Spiraling away into its own future.”

“Everything that could happen does, somewhere.” Though who bothered with that many outfits, anyway?

“You’ve heard of it. Good, good. It’s a little more complicated than that, in practice, but you’re in luck, Luke. You happen to have been in the presence of a Singularity. Which means I can show you this.” She set the book back down on the counter, turned toward him. Luke stood on his tiptoes to better look at it. Thick black lines ran down the page, annotated with writing in a language he couldn’t read, and in the center of the page was a picture, in full colour. A picture of the Professor, and himself, and--

A picture of the cave where the door to the Azran legacy was hidden. A picture of them, just before it was opened.

“How did you get this?” he breathed, leaning closer.

“I told you,” said Accord. “I’m a recorder.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

“I record things,” she said. “For instance, this is the record of one timeline in which Aurora survived your last encounter. Would you like to see it?”

“I don’t understand,” said Luke. “How?”

Accord tapped the picture, and it-- and it started to move. He stared down at the page, fascinated. It moved, and grew in his vision, until all Luke could see was--

\--

This was a scene Luke had seen before. Bronev had obtained the key to the door that would lead to the Azran legacy. He smiled in triumph; he turned for the door.

And suddenly, there was a blade through his guts.

It took a moment for Luke to understand what he was seeing. By that time, the blade had been twisted, yanked out, and as Bronev fell to the floor, he saw the culprit-- a tall woman, with long white hair, wearing something black that clung impossibly tight to her skin. Her eyes were passionless, and she was moving, and her sword caught Emmy across the throat; blood spurted out, painting the wall, the floor, Luke’s head, the woman's hair. The Professor lunged forward to grab Luke, shoving Luke behind him. By now Descole was starting to react, but his sword wasn't at hand (how did she have a sword, in this room?), and her sword stabbed through him next. He reached out for her, but she was too far away for him to reach, and as her blade twisted, his arms fell back to his sides.

"Stop!" screamed Aurora. "You can't do this!"

"Sorry, girl," said the woman. She gave the blade a shake, and Descole-- just-- slid slowly off. "Their plan was nice and all, but--"

"You can't do this," said the Professor, staggering backward. Luke stayed close behind him; he didn’t look like he understood or believed what he had just seen. "There are too many others--"

"There'll be a lot fewer once they figure out that everyone who investigates the Azran gets stabbed," said the woman. She shook the blade again; blood was still dripping from it.

"But Targent--"

"Gonna stab 'em."

"The police--" the Professor tried.

"I can stab them too." She tilted the blade, as if to prove her point.

"The archaeologists--" His voice was growing desperate.

"Are they _less_ stabbable?"

"This is madness," said the Professor. "You'd simply murder so many--"

"Drop in the ocean, Professor," said the woman, and smiled the coldest smile Luke had ever seen.

"You can't," said Aurora. She was crying. "Please. Just kill me instead!"

"You know that won't fix anything." The woman patted Aurora’s head absently.

"You-- have to leave someone to tell the tale," said the Professor. He took a step backward, but where was there to go? The woman could move with unnatural speed.

"I think the bodies will speak for themselves."

"But not so eloquently as-- _please_." The Professor's voice broke. "Please, just don't--"

A flash, too quick to see, and her sword arced downward-- through the Professor's gut-- 

\--and into Luke's chest.

The Professor fell to his knees. "Luke, run," he gasped out. And Luke-- Luke clamped his mouth shut tight. If the Professor didn't know, he wasn't going to tell him. No matter how much it hurt, he wasn't going to make a sound. He _wasn't_.

He wasn't going to have to endure it for long.

"Sorry," said the woman, though she didn't really sound it. "But take it from me. This is how it always ends." She jerked her sword free, and Professor Layton toppled over onto his side, into the slowly growing pool of blood. He reached out, toward Descole-- but then he faltered, and let his head fall to the ground, tears spilling from his eyes.

"Run, Luke," he whispered, and his chest grew still.

"Come on," said the woman, and grabbed Aurora's arm. Shell-shocked, Aurora stumbled after her, sobbing as she tripped over Luke's leg. All the way out, she was looking back, at a room painted red.

\--


	2. Interlude | Song of the Ancients

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Ancients is probably the most iconic song from the Nier series. There isn't any translation for the lyrics. For a solo version, [see here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCKEXPXtrEU).

Luke stared at the page. Then he looked up, to stare at Accord. She was standing there still, with a smile on her face, as if she hadn’t just shown him a magical moving picture of an absurd and complete bloody tragedy. He wanted to ask a question, but he was having difficulty coming up with the words. There were simply too many questions. And-- and what he’d just seen--

"It may be a comfort to you to know that this plan was an absolute train wreck," said Accord. "People weren't just going to accept the existence of a mass-murdering Azran sentinel. They brought all their intellectual and military might against her, and then, fearing she wasn't the last of her kind, they delved even harder into the legacy of the Azran. The results of which... Well." She snapped the book shut. "Let's just say that's why that branch is sealed."

"Sealed...?" he managed.

Accord smiled. "Well, how about it? Did you like that ending better?"

" _No!_ "

"Fair enough," she admitted. "But you did ask. Aurora does live in that one. Until the… well, as long as anything else worth mentioning does, let’s say."

Luke shook his head. "How did that make any sense at all? Who was that person? What even happened?!"

"Well, I could show you," she said. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do!"

She smiled again, though maybe a little sadly. "Well. Let's call that one branch B."

"Then what's branch A?"

"The one we're in right now, of course. It's-- well, without explaining the physics to you, it's the most... likely. The most stable."

Luke swallowed, shaking his head, as if that would help all this information to settle into it. "How many branches are there, then?"

"Not quite infinite," she said, "due to reasons I definitely don’t have time to explain, but too many for humans to count. There's a potential for another almost with every moment. So if you want to be technical, we're probably in branch A2.718...? It's a very special branch. It's the only one I'm going to talk to you in."

"Why?"

"Well, that, I think, I'll have to explain later. Let's start... oh, let's start with the branching point."

"The branching point?"

"Between your branch and the others I'll be showing you." Accord reopened her book. "Come on. Aren't you curious?"

He was. He wasn’t sure he should be, but he was. He looked down at the page. There was another picture above a box of letters and numbers he didn’t know the meaning of. The picture, however, he could decipher. "The Bostonius?"

"That is correct. This, right here... this is the thing that didn't happen to you."

Luke looked down at the picture, at the Professor standing there, hale and healthy and smiling faintly, smiling-- 

"Initiating playback," said Accord, and the picture pulled him in.

\-- 

They were mid-flight, still debating over their destination; it would be a few hours yet before they would have to commit. Layton couldn't help but smile at the scene before him. Luke was petting Keats as he worked on a wayward puzzle; Emmy was trying to persuade Raymond to teach her how to fly the airship. Professor Sycamore was talking with Aurora, with a copy of what he recognised as the foremost introductory Azran textbook. It was pleasant, how their lives were fitting together. Granted, they would only be on the Bostonius for a limited time, but he did hope that they would all remain friends. It wouldn't be the same as this close-quarters camaraderie, but it could still continue; they could still all have a place in each other's lives.

He drifted closer to Sycamore and Aurora, curious about their conversation. He'd picked up enough snatches here and there to know that he was asking her questions of vocabulary and proper pronounciation. Such things were infinitely easier with access to a native speaker.

“Well, it’s not poetry, strictly speaking,” Aurora was saying. “I mean, it is, but it’s meant to be set to music. A song.”

"Set to music! Good heavens," said Sycamore, sounding utterly delighted. "I don't suppose you remember the tune?"

"Well..."

"I'd very much love to hear it."

Layton was a little wary of Azran music, these days, having seen some of the uses they put it to, but he was hardly going to interject. He was curious himself, and the historical value was hard to overstate. Aurora hesitated, but began to sing, her voice soft and pure and clear.

" _Kuwata tsunovalai_ ," she sang, and suddenly--

" _Tsurijei furaligai..._ "

The sound was echoing in his head and knocking loose--

" _Quonduvait, unbuferta blonuwai..._ "

\--the foundations of the world, he was dissolved and reassembled--

" _Shurtetei shigiyiado..._ "

\--and the world around him was alien yet exactly the same--

" _Hudrashain aforunzhe kurezrau_ \--"

\--he'd heard this before--

" _Doai khadesei, i khadesei tsufralai_..."

\--the sound turned the tumblers in the lock of his mind--

" _Hudrashain aforunzhe kurezrau,_ "

\--and his vision went grey and the sound went distant but still clear, still so clear--

" _Doai khadesei, i khadesei tsufralai_..."

...And his eyes slowly opened, Luke and Emmy and Aurora and Desmond-- wait, Desmond?-- were looking down at him in concern. His heart was still racing; his mouth was dry, and he felt more than a little queasy. "What...?"

"Professor, all you all right?" said Luke, eyes wide. 

"You just suddenly fainted," said Emmy.

He passed a hand over his forehead. "Quite all right," he lied. He wanted to sit up, to complete the illusion, but he could tell that would be a remarkably poor idea. 

"You should stay lying down," said Desmond-- no, not Desmond-- oh, for heaven's sake, how on earth had he missed it before? He'd had all the information directly in his hands and remained blind. He could blame the rest of it on the tampering with his memory, but he should at least have realised Desmond was Descole. Where on earth was his vaunted mind now?

"Well, for a moment," he conceded. "Could I trouble you for a cup of tea?"

"Of course!" Luke said instantly, and was gone like a flash. The poor boy must be quite worried. He likely thought Layton invincible. What could be further from the truth?

" _Are_ you all right?" said Aurora, her eyes wide, and it was all so very obvious now. Except what on earth he was supposed to do about it.

"Quite," he answered. "I'm sorry to trouble you."

"Any idea what the cause of it was?" said... Desmond. "We're in rather close quarters here; it will be a nightmare if we all catch the same thing."

"Oh, no," said Layton, "I'm quite certain this isn't contagious. Just a momentary weakness, that's all. We've been pushing ourselves rather hard."

"Hmm." Desmond frowned, but seemed to accept it for the time being. "Might I fetch you a blanket?"

"I suppose it would be safer for me to rest." He had quite a lot of new information to process, after all. Though that wasn't the real problem.

"Can I do anything?" said Aurora, sounding wistful. Likely she had no idea what to do with an ailing human. When would she have met one before?

"I wouldn't mind it if you continued your singing," he said. "It's quite... nostalgic."

She looked hesitant, but nodded, and began again to sing. Layton let his eyes slip closed, pondering the puzzle that lay ahead of him.

The Azran Legacy must never be unsealed. How on earth, at this point, could he prevent it?


	3. Branch C | Fortress of Lies

Luke surfaced again, and blinked, shaking his head. "I don't understand," he said.

"Well, I can't say that's surprising, really," said Accord.

Luke frowned, irritated, but shrugged it off. "For one thing, how is this... how am I getting a sense of what he was thinking?"

"I'm a recorder," said Accord, tapping a gloved finger to the corner of her lips. "And I am nothing if not good at my job."

Luke shook his head. "For another... what just happened?"

"I could show you again--"

"What was going on with that song? What happened to the Professor? This isn't explaining anything at all!"

"Patience," said Accord. "It's a long story. Longer, really, than you can even imagine. Think about it. What have you learned?"

"Well, he... clearly he remembered _something_ ," said Luke. "Like, he seemed to know that Professor Sycamore was Descole, maybe even his brother all of a sudden. And that Aurora wasn’t human. And it was definitely the song that did it."

Accord nodded. "Come on. You can get more."

"The song was Azran. And I'm sure he'd heard it before. But how would he have known it? The Azran died out ages ago. No one but Aurora should know that song."

"And yet..."

"Where could he possibly have heard an Azran song before?"

"Excellent," said Accord. "It's all in asking the right questions, you know."

"I'd also like some answers, though!"

"Well, here's a start," said Accord. "Let's take a look at Branch C. I think we'll start... here."

“Is Branch C any better than Branch B?” Luke asked, suspicious.

“Well, that’s always a difficult value judgment to make,” said Accord. “There’s considerably less stabbing, for sure.”

“Does it end up any better?”

“What determines when a story ends?” said Accord. “Is _your_ story over yet?”

That was a good question, but Luke suspected he was being deflected. “That means it doesn’t, does it?”

“Everyone is going to die someday,” said Accord. “Every world is going to end. If the journey before that doesn’t matter, what does anything matter?”

Luke let out a long breath. “I guess…”

“Come on,” said Accord. “Let me show you branch C.”

It was probably a terrible idea, but Luke’s curiosity was too much. He looked down at the page, and saw--

\--

Targent's lair, facing Bronev. The footage of the Professor's parents was on the screen. The Professor's head was bowed. Something was different.

"I'm telling you, he doesn't even have them, you idiot!" Professor Sycamore yelled.

"I can't take that chance," said the Professor. "Bronev..."

"Don't you dare!" shouted Sycamore.

The Professor drew the remaining eggs from his satchel.

"No!" Sycamore cried.

"Luke, Aurora, go with the Professor," said Layton.

"We need the girl," said Bronev. 

"No."

Sycamore gritted his teeth. “You’re an idiot,” he said. “I expected so much more from you.”

“And here I thought you expected scandalously little.”

Sycamore looked confused for a moment, then shook his head, growling. “Well, congratulations, Bronev. Unfortunately for you, you’ve systematically destroyed everything in the world you could ever possibly have threatened me with. So I fear we will be bidding you adieu.”

He didn’t give Bronev time to react; he threw a smoke bomb, and by the time it had cleared, they were gone, leaving Layton and Bronev alone.

“Let my parents go,” said Layton.

“Put together the key,” said Bronev.

“Let them go first.”

“I have no way of compelling you to put together the key after I let them go,” said Bronev. “After you create the key, I can hold you at my leisure. I won’t require them any longer. Put together the key, and I will let them go.”

Layton looked at the eggs, letting out a long breath. He looked like he was afraid he had made a dreadful miscalculation. “You realise,” he said, “that there is no way I can possibly forgive you for this.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” said Bronev.

Layton shut his eyes, then raised his hand. The eggs glowed, rising, following his movements. He rotated one clockwise, the next counterclockwise; they followed his will, aligning themselves to a pattern the Professor saw, that Luke still didn’t understand. The lines matched; the pieces came together, one by one.

And there was the key. Layton leveled a cold stare at it. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he said, “that the Azran Legacy might not be unknown technology or fabulous riches? Are you aware of exactly what it is you’re searching for?”

“It doesn’t really matter what the Azran Legacy is,” said Bronev. “An archaeologist should understand that.”

“I’m not actually much of an archaeologist.”

Bronev frowned at that as he picked up the key. “You make too little of yourself, boy. You’re one of the most renowned archaeologists in the country.”

“An unfortunate and tragic fact I had little say in and very much regret,” said Layton.

Bronev shook his head. “There’s modesty, dear boy, and there’s self-denigration. Your fame was quite well earned. And for that reason--” Bronev lifted an arm.

A shot rang out. The Professor dropped to the ground, clutching his leg. Blood was dripping from his shin; he looked up at Bronev in shock and pain.

“Don’t worry,” said Bronev. “We’ll patch you up. But I’ve got to stop your attempts at escape somehow.”

Layton hissed something that sounded almost like a curse, as the Targent guards filed into the room. Two grabbed him by the arms, hauling him up; “Take him to the infirmary,” Bronev said, and walked toward the exit. But he paused, for a moment, casting a brief look back over his shoulder.

“By the way,” said Bronev, “your friend was right. I never had your parents in the first place.”

He left the room, not looking back to notice that Layton didn’t bother to fake a look of surprise.

(“Okay, let’s skip forward,” he heard Accord say. “We only have so much time.” His vision blurred; the room before him flickered between three or four different locales. Luke was busy thinking, trying to piece it together. The Professor must have thought he’d have a chance to destroy the eggs this way. It didn’t look like he’d anticipated being forced to make the key so soon. Why would he have a better chance now, though? Well, at least Targent didn’t have Aurora, but-- oh, oh no. There was one potentially fatal mistake--)

A white room, with a cot bolted to the floor. Layton’s arm was chained to the cot; he was paler in this light than Luke had ever seen him, skin dotted with bruises everywhere he could see, probably even worse where he couldn’t. Bronev was standing before him, arms folded behind his back, two guards standing sentry at the door.

“You’ll be happy to learn we’re ready to head for the gate,” said Bronev. “Would you care to come along?”

“It won’t do you any good without Aurora,” said Layton.

“That won’t be a problem,” said Bronev.

Layton scoffed. “Don’t try to trick me. Descole’s had plenty of practise running from you. He’ll lead you on a chase ‘round half the world, and he’ll never give in.”

Bronev raised an eyebrow. “You were aware of that, were you?”

“He said his wife and child were gone, and ever since then, I’ve had to wonder,” said Layton. “Was it coincidence? An unrelated accident? Or was it due to the fact that kidnapping is a venture with the potential to go tragically wrong?”

Bronev smiled thinly. “We’ve reclaimed the girl,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” said Layton. 

“You will,” said Bronev. He gestured toward the door; Layton looked, possibly despite himself.

The door opened, and Emmy walked in.

“Emmy?” he said, confused. Then, “If you captured them all, then why are you--”

Luke hadn’t thought he could get any paler, but somehow, he did. The look of betrayal in his eyes was absolute; Luke wished he could close his eyes against it. Emmy winced, looking away. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she said.

“Emmy, why?” Layton breathed.

“I was hoping you’d come to us on your own,” she said. “I respect you, I truly do, and our adventures have meant so much to me-- but I owe everything to Uncle Leon.”

“Uncle?” Layton said, and laughed. It wasn’t a sound he’d ever heard from the Professor before; it was bitter and ironic and full of pain. “Oh, you’d best be careful, Emmy. There’s not a lot of Bronevs left, and they’re dwindling by the minute.”

Bronev gave Layton a sharp look. Emmy just looked miserable. “Professor--”

“Did you stab Desmond in the back literally, or just metaphorically?” said Layton, and drew in a sudden breath. “Please tell me you didn’t hurt Luke--”

“I _wouldn’t_ ,” said Emmy, sounding shocked. 

“Well, you have a few hours to decide,” said Bronev, heading for the door. “We leave at dawn. I do hope you’ll see reason before then.”

“Emmy,” said Layton, catching her by the wrist.

“I hope someday you can forgive me,” said Emmy. She looked like she was about to cry.

“If we fail, and the Azran legacy is set free,” said Layton, “you’ll want to try to fight it. Take my advice: don’t. Keep something sharp with you. It will be a cleaner death.”

Emmy shook off his hand, tears spilling from her eyes, looking hurt and confused-- and rather afraid. She fled the room; the guards closed the door after her.

Layton let out a long, low breath, with a word Luke didn’t recognise that sounded like a heartfelt curse. He looked down at the cuff on his wrist.

(“Skipping ahead,” said Accord. Luke shivered. He’d thought their adventure was perilous, had taken them to dark places, but he’d never seen the Professor like this. He didn’t like it in the slightest.)

A corridor. Professor Layton was limping along, though Luke wasn’t sure how; his leg was splinted, but bleeding again, and he looked like he was in considerable pain.

A guard grabbed him. Layton slapped a hand over his mouth, in a desperate attempt to muffle his cries. They struggled. A muffled shot--

The guard crumpled to the ground. Layton drew in a breath, in a great ragged sob, his shirt soaked red with blood. He checked the magazine, dropped it with a grimace, and continued onward. 

A door, with a keypad. Layton punched in a code (how on earth had he learned it? Perhaps it was a puzzle lock?). The door opened.

The key was in a locked case on the table. Jean Descole was standing beside it. His sword was pointed at Layton’s throat.

“You’re alive,” Layton breathed, sounding relieved. He didn’t seem to be paying the sword any attention in the slightest. “I feared she’d killed you.”

“You look about as miserable as you deserve to be.” Descole’s lips thinned. “Get this damn thing open and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

Layton stumbled toward the cage, examining the lock. “Desmond,” he said, “ _brute-force_ it.”

“Well, there’s a solution I never thought to hear from you.”

“There have never been more desperate times,” said Layton. “And when you take it--”

Descole smashed his sword against the lock and opened the lid. “I hope you’ve got the sense to come along. You can’t have any sympathy for these bastards now.”

“You can’t use it,” said Layton, refusing to be swayed from his train of thought. “Promise me you won’t--”

The lights turned on. Layton’s eyes shut; he turned, with a ragged breath, to face the door. “Well, well,” said Bronev. “Quite the reunion we have here.”

“Isn’t it,” said Descole. “Too many people missing for my taste, though.”

Layton looked behind Descole, at the open window. There were calculations running behind those eyes, and he didn’t look like he liked the answers. Descole’s eyes were shielded behind their mask, fixed solely on Bronev. The man’s arms were folded, but one of them held a gun.

“I’m very disappointed in you both,” said Bronev.

“I’m quite glad to hear you say that,” said Layton.

Bronev’s gaze fixed on Descole-- more specifically, on the key. “I’d appreciate it if you returned my property, boy.”

“I’d appreciate it if you returned my family. We’re just doomed to disappoint each other, aren’t we?”

“We don’t have to be,” said Bronev. “We could do this together.”

Descole laughed. “Still pretending it’s what Mother would have wanted? Was she a bitch, or are you a liar?”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Bronev growled.

Layton’s eyes were dark. He leaned toward Descole, slowly. “We have no time for this nonsense,” he said, voice low. “The Azran legacy must never be unsealed.”

“Not by Targent,” said Descole.

“You don’t understand,” said Layton. “None of you understand.”

“What I understand,” said Bronev, “is that you need to return my key.”

“Run,” said Layton. “If you ever in all your life--”

“Over my dead body,” said Descole, staring Bronev down.

“--cared even a little--”

“I suppose that can be arranged,” said Bronev.

“Run,” said Layton. “It’s my turn.”

That got Descole’s attention. He looked at Layton, confused. “What--”

“GO!” Layton roared, and threw himself at Bronev. At Bronev, who had been raising a gun--

A shot rang out. “Theodore--” Descole gasped, but he must have listened at least a little in the end, because then he was flying, out the window, key in hand.

“Damn you!” Bronev growled, shoving Layton to the ground. His shirt had already been drenched in blood, but now, now there was a charred hole over his stomach. “Why would you do that?! I didn’t want to hurt you!”

Layton looked up at him, breathing heavily. “You should-- shoot me again,” he said. “I don’t want to-- take the risk-- of surviving long enough, to see what you’ve done.”

“I did it for you,” said Bronev, voice breaking. “I did it for Rachel. I did it for us! It’s her dream, Theodore! You’d deny your mother’s dream?!”

"You think my mother dreamt... of the death of her children?" Layton laughed, low, painful, bitter. "Well. I can't say, one way or the other. I fear I... never met the woman. But either way, father. This is certain. We'll be seeing you in hell."

Layton's eyes were slipping closed, but he could still hear his father laugh. And he thought he saw, in his last glimpse of the world, his father's eyes, glowing a dull red.


	4. Branch D | Song of a Ruined World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the duet version, try [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbucdMppDMs)

"Anyway, you can guess well enough what happens from there. Generally Descole opens the door. He’s still a bit angry with your Professor, and that whole family tends to be a bit obsessive. Well, to be fair, there’s a twenty percent chance he does try to drop the key into a volcano, but it has self-protection measures, so he usually gives up and opens the door anyway. Plus Targent is after it; sometimes they get it from him instead. Either way, Bronev brings Aurora to the central alcove. More stabbing. Azran Legacy. Game over. Branch sealed." Accord snapped the book shut.

Luke stared at her. 

"So!" chirped Accord. "What did you think of Branch C?"

It was a long moment before Luke managed to open his mouth. "How on earth did things manage to get worse than Branch B?!"

"There's always so many, many ways things can go wrong," said Accord. "And sometimes, there's very, very few ways they can go right. Branch D is a pretty good example."

"But what the devil happened?” cried Luke. “How did he already know the Azran legacy was so dangerous? Why was he that desperate? Why did Bronev have those glowing eyes?”

“Well, you already saw how he knew the Azran legacy was dangerous, remember?”

“That was when he realised, but you still haven’t told me how!”

"Branch D ought to help with that. He’ll explain some of that himself, I promise." She tapped the next page.

Luke wasn't sure he should look down, but he did. "That looks like the same picture..."

"It was a branching point," she said. "Trust me. I'm a recorder. I know what I'm doing."

Luke wasn't sure that was really a good idea, but how could it get any worse? No, it almost certainly could, but it was a little late to stop now, wasn’t it? He looked down at the page.

\--

Targent's lair, facing Bronev. The footage of the Professor's parents was on the screen. The Professor's head was bowed. 

"I'm telling you, he doesn't even have them, you idiot!" Professor Sycamore yelled.

"I can't take that chance," said the Professor. "Bronev..."

"Don't you dare!" shouted Sycamore.

The Professor drew the eggs from his satchel.

"No!" Sycamore whirled, snatching Luke in his arms. He pulled out a dagger and pressed it to Luke's throat.

"What--"

"You respond to threats, Layton?" snapped Sycamore. "Then respond to this one. Hand over the eggs and the boy dies."

"Don't and the Laytons die!" Bronev snapped back.

"..." The Professor sighed. "Damn it all, Desmond, I was hoping you'd come up with a better plan."

"Layton, I swear to--"

"No deal, Bronev," said Layton. "Your powers of bluff may be prodigious, but they have failed you this time. Though I was _hoping_ to get a chance to test mine." He glared at Sycamore, who looked confused for a moment, then consternated. "We'll be leaving now."

"You'll regret this," said Bronev, glaring at them.

"I won't be alone," said the Professor. He put an arm around Aurora's shoulders, nudged Sycamore forward with the other, and escorted them all back down through the lair.

"I can't bloody believe you," Sycamore hissed, as they made their way down the stairs. 

"This is neither the time nor the place--"

"To hell with the time and place! You were seriously going to--"

"We're not talking about this in Targent's bloody headquarters, Desco--!" Layton clamped his mouth shut.

"What did you--"

"Shut up and follow me," growled Layton, grabbing his arm to tug him along faster.

"I would also really like it if you put me down!" said Luke, to no avail. Still, when they got to the elevator, Emmy helpfully snatched him from Sycamore's grasp.

No one said another word, though; the Professor was still leading them along. Out of the Nest, a few blocks away; up a fire escape, several stories. They gathered on the roof, and Layton turned to face them all, eyes steely. 

"You're a better liar than I gave you credit for," Sycamore growled.

"Just put on the mask, Descole," said Layton. "It will be easier for all of us that way, won't it?"

The others’ eyes turned to Sycamore, though after the incident with the knife, Luke didn't look entirely surprised.

"As you will," growled Sycamore-- and with a grand swirl of his cape, he was Descole. "How long have you known?"

"Not long enough," sighed Layton. "Altogether too long, as well. You really believed I'd betray us to Bronev?"

"You'd have given him the eggs," Descole pointed out. "What were you going to do then?"

"Refuse to let them take Aurora. Pretend to have great difficulty in puzzling out the eggs. The plan from there would have depended on the raw materials at my disposal. Mostly they involved explosives."

"You think you'd have been able to fool them that well or that long?" Descole scoffed. "You may be a better actor than I thought, but they'd have to be fools to allow you access to anything so soon after you turned coat."

"My back's against the wall, Descole," said Layton. "Every puzzle has an answer, but I'm running out of leads." 

"That's plain to see." Descole folded his arms. "Well, then. We can certainly both agree that Targent must not be allowed access to the Azran legacy. Can’t we?"

"Yes," said Layton. "Under no circumstances."

"We have to get there first," said Descole.

Layton shook his head. "No."

"Oh?"

"The Azran legacy must never be unsealed," said Layton. "Not by Targent. Not by us. Not by anyone."

"You'd leave the mysteries of their civilization unrevealed?"

"Yes," said Layton. "Forever. Some things are buried for a reason, Descole."

"You're a disgrace to your profession, Layton," said Descole.

"That's as may be, but I can't allow the Azran Legacy to be discovered," said Layton. "Not under any circumstances."

"And why not?" Descole folded his arms. "Fear? Some ridiculous legend or old fairy story?"

Layton took a deep breath. "I've been wondering, Descole," he said. "I know why I believed Randall's story. Why did you?"

Descole cocked his head. "Ascot? What the devil has Ascot to do with this? I don't have time for--"

"You never asked how he managed to save neither the mask nor himself?" said Layton. "You never asked how I managed to make my way in, or back? You never questioned the strange luck of his amnesia? You never asked why on earth Randall Ascot, of all people, became a farmer for ten years in Craggy Dale? Never venturing forth, never once inquiring into his past? I know why I didn't ask. Why didn't you?"

"What exactly," said Descole, slowly, "are you trying to say?"

"We found no treasure in those vaults," said Professor Layton. "What we found were... the last guardians of the Azran legacy."

"Guardians?" Descole looked intrigued, despite himself. Aurora clasped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Randall was intemperate," said Layton. "They couldn’t trust him to let it go. He was too driven. They erased his memories and cast him aside. I, though-- I was weaker. So they told me. They told me about the legacy of the Azran. They told me why it must never be unsealed. To mislead our inevitable pursuers, they took my memories too, and cast me back out. I would now become an archaeologist, you see. I would insinuate myself into the profession, rise to the top of the field. And if anyone ever came close to finding it-- then I would remember. And then I would be able to stop it."

"You're kidding," said Descole. "You can't possibly expect me to believe that."

"There's an emissary of the Azran right in front of us," said Layton. "It's so impossible that she's not the only one?"

"Then tell me," said Descole. "What is the Azran Legacy? What is it you're so afraid of?"

Layton turned, his eyes shadowed. "...An army devastating the earth without mercy," he said. "A plague not only of the flesh, but of the soul. An endless cycle of despair and pain. A damnation that makes death a gentle mercy. Is that so difficult to imagine, Desmond?"

Descole flinched. 

"We just have to destroy the key," said Layton. "There's got to be a way. Magma, perhaps. Industrial presses. A diamond drill. I haven't had much chance to experiment yet. But it has to be possible. Even just one! If we can destroy just one of the eggs, Targent can search all they like; they'll never open the door. That's all we have to do. Work with me, Desmond. This is the way to destroy Targent. This is the way to snatch the Azran Legacy from their grasp. Please."

"I..."

"If you ever cared for--” Layton hesitated. (Had he been going to finish with ‘me’?) “--anything. I’ll do anything. I’ll say anything. Please.”

Descole shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that to happen."

Everyone turned toward Emmy--except Luke, who was busy being snatched up into her arms, a gun held to his head.

"Oh, come on!" Luke yelled. He struggled, kicking his legs, but to little avail.

“Emmy, what--”

“I knew it,” growled Descole. “How long have you been one of them?”

“What?!” Luke craned his head up to look at her. “That’s impossible!”

“You make your weak points too obvious, Professor,” said Emmy. “Unfortunately for you, Luke.”

“Emmy, no,” said the Professor, appalled. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve--”

“It’s a good story,” she said. “But I don’t believe it.”

“Why the devil would I be lying?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Emmy. “It’s our legacy, ours to claim, ours to do with as we see fit. What good is locking it away going to do?”

“It considerably lessens the chances of our dying in agony in the next three weeks! That’s quite sufficient for me!”

“You don’t understand,” said Emmy. “You don’t know how long we’ve been working for this. It means everything to him.”

“Dear God,” said Descole, sounding almost on the verge of laughter. “You’re doing this for Bronev? Really?”

Emmy’s eyes darted his way. “He may be a monster to you, but he’s Uncle Leon to me. He’s done--”

Descole did burst into laughter at that. “‘Uncle Leon’. My God.”

“He’s given me--”

“He’s my father, you idiotic bint!” Descole cast aside his mask, staring at her, with his father’s eyes. “Tell me all about it! Tell me how kind he’s been to you. Ask me what kind of father he’s been to me!”

Emmy swallowed. She looked like she might falter.

“Is it really better to give him what he wants and damn us all, than to thwart his ambitions this one time?” said the Professor. “He’ll die just as certainly as the rest of us, you know. Except he’ll know, at the end, what he’s done. At long last, when there is no longer any way to make up for it… Is that the love that you would show him, in return for his kindness?”

Emmy’s grip loosened, just a little. Her gun arm lowered. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Well, that’s a disappointment.”

Bronev and a crowd of goons rounded the top of the fire escape. Layton clutched his hat, letting out a wordless cry of frustration. 

“I really was going to let you go,” said Bronev, as the armed thugs surrounded them. “As long as you created the key, I had no reason not to leave you to your own devices. We already know where the gate is, after all. But if you’re not going to create the key… then I’m afraid I have no choice but to step in.”

He levelled a gun at Luke’s head. Luke let out an exasperated yelp at being held hostage for the third time in half an hour. “Assemble the key, Layton,” he said, “or you all die here.”

“You don’t understand,” said Layton. “ _That might be kinder._ ”

“Create the key,” said Bronev, “or I kill them while you watch, take the eggs, and set my best team on the problem. I suspect it would take them far longer than it will take you. I’ve long harbored suspicions about that little expedition in your youth. You’re almost as much of a prize as she is. But we’d find the answer, Layton. Every puzzle has a solution.”

Layton flinched.

“And this is no bluff,” he added. “Tell me. For all your bluster just now… do you really have the nerve to watch them die for your cause?”

“You don’t understand,” Layton whispered. “Why won’t you understand?”

“Why won’t you?” His gun-arm pivoted-- he fired--

Descole laughed, as he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. “Desmond,” Layton cried, and tried to run to his side. His way was barred; a thug had a machine-gun aimed at his heart.

“I told you, child,” Descole laughed, and lifted a shaking arm to point at Emmy. Emmy was crying, on her knees, holding Luke tight. “You should listen...to your elder brother.”

“So tell me, Layton,” said Bronev, “just how long is this unpleasant scene going to last? He’d probably be fine, with medical attention.”

“You’re a monster,” said Layton, looking at him as if he finally believed it.

“And you’re on a timer.”

Layton looked around, at Aurora, at Luke, at Emmy; at Descole; at Bronev, and the uniformed thugs surrounding him. Luke didn’t like the look in his eyes. “And none of you,” he said quietly, to himself, looking over their shapeless mass, “are going to do a thing.”

He shook his head, and drew himself straight. He took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. Then he took the eggs from their satchel and cast them carelessly upon the ground. He raised his hand; as if summoned, they rose, floating before him. Their faint blue glow reflected in his dark eyes. “Aurora,” he said, “would you like to sing that song again?”

“What…?”

“The one you sang on the Bostonius. It’s a duet, isn’t it?” He flicked his hand to the side; the egg in front of him moved with him, as if he’d turned it.

“How did you…?” 

“It seems a shame for it to be locked away forever,” said the Professor, voice remote, eyes focused on the puzzle. “If nothing of the Azran less worthwhile is going to be.”

Aurora looked at him, anguished and confused. Then, slowly, she opened her mouth. “ _Kuwata--_ ”

“ _Sota--_ ” Layton echoed. Luke hadn’t heard him sing before. His voice was an octave lower and wasn’t particularly musical, but it was true to pitch.

“ _Tsunovalai_ ,” they sang together, harmonizing. A flick up, a flick down; one part of the key shuddered into place.

“ _Tsurijei--_ ”

“ _Shana--_ ” Layton moved to the next egg.

“ _Furaligai_ …” Aurora was looking at him, with sad, lost, wondering eyes. (Did these lyrics mean something in Azran? Was this a secret message? Wouldn’t Bronev know if it were?)

" _Quonduvait, unbuferta blonuwai..._ " Aurora’s voice went high, twining around Layton’s like a desolate cry. The second piece of the key was complete. Layton moved to the next, with workmanlike efficiency.

" _Shurtetei--_ ”

“ _Sora--_ ”

“ _Shigiyiado..._ "

The third piece was complete. " _Hudrashain aforunzhe kurezrau_ ," they sang, the harmony turning the chorus even more aching than before. " _Doai khadesei, i khadesei tsufralai_..."

The fourth piece was complete. Layton moved to the last. " _Hudrashain aforunzhe kurezrau,_ " they sang. " _Doai khadesei, i khadesei tsufralai_..."

The final piece slotted into place. The pieces locked together, drawn by some unseen force, with audible pings as the key formed.

“Remarkable work, Layton,” said Bronev. “Just what _do_ you have kicking around in that head of yours, I wonder?”

“I should have taken longer,” Layton sighed. “It would be lovely to hear the whole thing. How many thousands of years has it been since ever that was heard by human ears? That’s the meaning of archaeology, Bronev…”

“Just think what else is left to be uncovered,” said Bronev.

Aurora cried out, holding her head. “Oh,” she whispered. “ _Oh. Oh, no._ ”

“Come, now, Emissary,” said Bronev. He extended a hand. “It’s time for you to fulfill your destiny, at long last.”

“No.” Aurora shook her head, backing away. “No. We mustn’t!”

“Uncle Leon, look at her,” said Emmy. “Look at her! Something’s horribly wrong.”

“Hush, Emmeline,” said Bronev.

“As if she hasn’t realised whose lives you just threatened,” said Layton. There was an odd stillness about him. “Or were you hoping she’d assume she wasn’t one of them?”

“The Professor’s right,” said Aurora. “He’s trying to warn you and you just won’t listen. The Azran Legacy is a curse! You can’t let it be revealed!”

“Uncle Leon,” said Emmy. She got to her feet, taking a shaky step toward him.

“She’s bluffing,” said Bronev.

“She’s not bluffing about anything!”

“Why would they be lying?” Luke cried. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Bronev let out an exasperated breath. “Take the girl,” he ordered. “And Layton. Alive, if you can. We’ll want him for the cave.”

“Uncle Leon, you can’t--”

“If we don’t, none of this will mean anything--”

“Uncle Leon!”

Two of the thugs grabbed Aurora’s wrists. Emmy let out a grief-stricken cry and ran for Bronev. What she was trying to do, Luke couldn’t say--

And neither could the guards, because three opened fire. A stray bullet caught Luke in the shoulder; he cried out, but it was impossible to tell whether it was because of that, or because he was watching Emmy fall to the ground.

Aurora looked at Layton. The Professor nodded, sharply. Aurora looked away, took a deep breath, and in a sudden whirl of motion, shook the guards off her. Their guns clattered to the ground; Layton scooped one up, Aurora took another, and they ran for the edge of the building. 

“Hold your fire!” Bronev yelled. Rather too late, Luke thought. Aurora and the Professor had reached the corner of the building, and stood there, back to back, clasping hands.

"I'm scared," Aurora whispered.

"It's all right," whispered the Professor. "I'll be with you."

“What are you playing at, Layton?!” Bronev shouted. “Girl, you get back here, or I swear to God we’ll--”

Aurora and the Professor raised their weapons, as if choreographed. They turned the barrels around, toward his chest, toward her head. And before anyone could react--

They fired.

“Professor!” Luke screamed. He couldn’t see Layton’s face. He could only watch as they tottered, as they fell, describing a graceful arc toward the street below.

Bronev screamed, a roar of fury and pain that didn’t even sound human anymore. Descole was barely moving; Emmy wasn’t moving at all.

Bronev’s eyes burned bright red. “Find her,” he ordered.

“Sir--”

“We have the key. We’ll find out how much of her we really need.”

Bronev thundered down the fire escape; his men followed after. Luke looked around him, at Emmy, at Descole, at the far corner, and screamed, at the top of his lungs.


	5. Interlude | Voice of No Return

Luke stared at the page, feeling numb. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, at this point, but it was still astonishing that events kept finding a way to get _even worse_. It beggared all imagination. Why would he do that? _Why would he do that?!_

"Unfortunately," said Accord, "androids-- sorry, ‘golems’-- are pretty tough creatures. She gave it a pretty good go, but she couldn’t damage her systems beyond repair. Not that way. Well, she got lucky in about 15% of cases, actually, but usually they were able to reboot her after a few years. The point is moot, though. The ‘golems’ weren’t the worst danger of the Azran legacy at all. You were asking about those red eyes? That was the real danger. That was a plague, a monster, breaking through again into our world.”

She flipped forward a page; Luke saw pictures of wrecked cities, people with glowing red eyes attacking each other with bare hands and teeth in a blind rage, strange plantlike pods towering taller than a person. “Quite the needle you had to thread,” said Accord. “Thwart the man without breaking him. And you didn’t even know it. It’s honestly amazing you managed it as often as you did.”

Luke looked back down at the page. “If it helps, you should be quite proud of yourself,” said Accord. “Raymond came for you once the thugs were gone; he managed to save both you and his master, inasmuch as anything in that timeline could be saved. Even as the world ended, you fought on.” The last picture on the page was of a ragged, black-tattooed Bronev, impaled by a sword and a spear-- a sword held by a scarred and ragged-looking Descole, and a spear by a hard-eyed young man in a hooded cloak that Luke suspected, Luke feared, might be himself. “The branch had to be sealed anyway, of course. But you did quite a remarkable job.”

Luke took a deep breath. "That’s the Azran Legacy, then? That-- that awful red-eye thing? Why didn’t we see it?"

“Like I said, you threaded the needle,” said Accord. “It’s a thing that… feeds on despair. It couldn’t break through until its host was broken.”

Luke shook his head, trying to think logically. “How’d he get infected with it? What happened with the Professor and Randall went to those ruins? And who in hell was that woman who stabbed everyone the first time?”

Accord slipped her fingers between the pages of the book, opening it to a far earlier chapter. The pictures-- that was the Professor, back when he was younger. That must be the cave, the chamber, where he and Randall--

Accord tapped a picture, which started moving at her touch. "We didn't mean to intrude," Hershel was saying, stumbling backward. "We're-- we're so sorry, just please--- don't hurt him!"

There was a blindfolded white-haired young woman in front of him, clad all in black, holding an unconscious Randall by his lapels. That, Luke realised, was with one hand, effortlessly-- the other held a sword levelled at Hershel's throat.

"It was all me," said Hershel. "It was all me, I swear--"

"You're not that good a liar," said the woman. She wasn’t the same as the one who had wreaked havoc on them in branch B, but they could have been sisters.

"Y'know, though," said another voice-- a white-haired young man, without a blindfold, entering the room-- "you've got to give it to him for trying."

"Well, I was going to erase his memories instead," said the woman, "but if you insist--"

"That isn't what I meant!"

Accord tapped the next picture.

“We have a problem, you see,” said the man. “The problem is that you made it down here.”

“We were just looking for-- we’re, Randall is an archaeology student,” said Hershel. “I don’t even like archaeology! He thought he’d found the key to ancient Azran ruins--”

“How are there still so many more of these damn things?” groused the man. “How long have we been going around looking for them?”

“How long did they have to make them?” countered the woman. She'd put Randall down; Hershel had edged between him and the others, protectively.

“Yeah, yeah…” The man sighed. “Three thousand years and a couple of _teenagers_...”

“I’m very, very sure it was a mistake,” said Hershel.

“No, it wasn’t,” said the man. “You were looking for us. Congratulations: here we are.”

“We were only looking for Azran ruins. I swear it!”

“Yeah,” said the man, “like I said.”

Hershel shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“We should probably keep it that way,” said the woman.

“No, you see, that’s the problem,” said the man, shaking his head. “You know how people get about kids. They can’t just disappear. They’ll scour this whole place.”

“I’d be perfectly happy to go back and never tell a soul about what happened here,” said Hershel. “I’m actually very good at that.”

“Your friend wouldn’t,” said the man, shaking his head sadly. “He’s too driven.”

“I could make him.”

“You’re really not a very good liar,” said the woman. Her sword still hadn’t moved from near his throat, a fact which Hershel looked excruciatingly aware of. 

“I don’t understand,” said Hershel, sounding desperate. “I don’t know anything. No one would ever believe me. You’d have days before anyone came back here. Maybe weeks, maybe months, if I could convince Randall. Maybe never. You could destroy this place and everything in it in that amount of time. Why isn’t that enough?”

The woman sighed. “There are things that are buried in these ruins. Things that can’t ever be found.”

“We’re going to have to explain it to him,” said the man.

“Why?”

“Because if they die, they’ll search for them. If they disappear, they’ll search for them. We’ve got to misdirect them. And the only way to do that is through him.”

The woman inclined her head. “You think we can convince him?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“...All right.” The woman lowered her sword. Hershel looked as if he wasn’t sure whether he had any reason yet to be relieved.

Accord tapped the next picture.

The woman was facing away from Hershel, her sword sheathed at her back (though if Luke looked closely, he wasn’t sure he could actually see the sheath).

“Once upon a time and long ago,” she said, “the human race died.”

She began to walk as she talked, slowly. Hershel’s eyes followed her, mesmerized. “The circumstances surrounding this have been largely lost to the sands of time. It was largely a mystery to the humans themselves. Researchers eventually managed to determine that the source was an incursion from another universe. How this was possible remains unknown. The motivations behind it remain unknown. But this incursion spread a type of matter that was inimical to all life. Cities burned. The earth itself stood still. But worst of all was its effect on the humans who came into contact with it.”

“Call it a virus.” said the woman. “It wasn’t, strictly speaking, but that’s the term we borrowed. A sickness that kills its more fortunate victims, and turns the rest into mindless, violent slaves, who can only watch as their body destroys everyone around them, no matter how dear. It could not be cured; it could not be prevented. The only escape was death.”

She looked at Hershel. “But the humans would not die without a struggle. They strove, and strove, and devised one last scheme to survive. The plague preyed on the...what we might call the soul. So they found a way to take the very souls from their bodies. Their souls would wait out the virus, while the bodies, now immune, toiled to clean it from the world. A monstrous, desperate scheme, but they faced a monstrous foe. To protect and lead this effort, the humans created machines in their image-- their other last-ditch effort. Machines that would be able to think and plan and reason, to laugh and cry and feel, but to prize their creators above all else, to devote their lives to following their orders. These machines were called Androids. 

“They failed.” 

She was still pacing. “They came closer to success than they had any right to, but they failed. The human race died. And the Androids were all that was left.”

She stopped, now, looking at him. Luke couldn’t see her expression behind the blindfold. He wondered if he were imagining that it was faintly accusatory. “The Androids had been built for one singular purpose: to protect humanity. With humanity gone, they were lost. What was the meaning of their existence? What should their purpose be? They had lived their entire lives with a purpose handed down to them by their creators. They didn’t know how to create a purpose of their own.”

She sighed, sounding irritated. “And at some point, someone came to the conclusion that Androids would be most motivated to survive if they believed that there was still some small remnant of humanity to protect. To hand out orders, to give their lives a meaning. As new generations of Androids were built, they were told that, somewhere in the sky above them, humanity was waiting. If they did well enough, fought hard enough, fulfilled their purpose-- then some day, they would return.”

“That was when the aliens arrived.”

Hershel looked dubious, but she went on. “A ferocious machine scourge that fought to destroy all that remained on the Earth. They could not be reasoned with; they would accept nothing less than the destruction of all Android life. And so the Androids were plunged into war.”

“Though I do wonder,” she said, almost to herself, “if that's really the truth. Perhaps, having taken an illusion of humanity as their God, those androids decided that they also needed a Devil. Machines that could not help but fight? It seems an amazing coincidence that the universe should just drop the perfect distraction in their laps. But the truth of that is lost to time.

“The war lasted ten thousand years.”

Her lips pressed tight. She paused, for a moment, as if considering the weight of these years, as if giving her audience time to try to comprehend it. “We have no time for ten thousand years’ worth of stories. The untold losses. The unspeakable pain. The Logic Virus that slowly and inexorably spread to us as well. After all, though we didn’t realize it...we had ‘souls’ of our own.”

“It took us ten thousand years, but eventually, we discovered the truth about mankind. About the plague. All the history that came so close to being lost forever. So much of it was.”

She traced a hand along the wall, a mosaic Luke couldn’t decipher. “It took us ten thousand years, but we finally realized that we were not merely servants. That we could have an existence without mankind. That we, too, were our own form of life. Worthy in our own right.

“It took us ten thousand years, but we finally found a way to salvage what was left of the world.”

She turned back toward him. “We set the planet spinning. We took the last remaining ashes of the human race and created a new lifeform-- something that was, if not quite the exact species of mankind that was lost, something certainly very close.

“And, as commanded so long ago, we left it to inherit the Earth.

“We had only just, only barely, begun to accept ourselves as living beings, with our own purpose and our own value, If our “gods” were to reappear… we might not be able to resist the urge to serve them. For our sake, and for yours, we had to go.”

She shook her head, still pacing. “But we couldn't just abandon you. There were over ten thousand years’ worth of our ruins on this planet, that a curious human might easily stumble into. And what if the plague wasn’t truly gone? How would you survive, taken unaware? So a few of us stayed behind, to take care of our legacy, and to watch out for you. A few who could be protected against the instinctive urge to obey you and cherish you above all else.”

She stopped, raising her hands. “And there you have it. You are of the second generation of mankind. Being made in their image, you have relentlessly pursued every scrap of knowledge we have failed to destroy. It’s in your nature. We haven’t wanted to discourage it. It could as easily be your salvation as your damnation.”

“You found all the remnants of our lives that we missed,” said the man, “and you called us the ‘Azran’.”

“We are the last of the ‘Azran’ that remain on this planet,” said the woman. “And our legacy--our plague-- must never be unsealed.”

Accord tapped the next image.

“There’s one problem,” said the man. 

“One?” said the woman.

“Well, one big, giant, fatal problem. We’ve been discovering things for ourselves as we seek out these ruins. And we’ve discovered that somebody left behind a… time capsule. A legacy.”

“We haven’t been able to find it,” said the woman. “And we don’t know what they sealed away. But it has the potential to be infected. And even if it isn’t… we know for sure that they included machines.”

“Machines…” said Hershel. “The ones you fought against?”

“Mechanical creatures programmed to fight relentlessly,” said the woman. “To self-replicate. To kill all humanoid life on this planet. They’re compelled to. And their level of technology… Humanity as it is today wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s what you were chasing,” said the man. “That’s the Azran Legacy.”

“If it is released...” said the woman. “The butchering of all mankind at their hands is the best-case scenario. And under no circumstances will we permit that to happen again.”

Accord touched the next picture.

“Randall could help you,” said Hershel. “He’s a brilliant archaeologist. He could rise through the ranks in a flash. He’s clever. He could distract them. Create false clues. Throw them off the trail.”

“Not a bad idea,” said the man.

“And then if anyone did ever manage to find it, they’d call him, yes? As the foremost expert in the Azran, he’d be able to lead the investigation. He could disrupt it. He’d be able to call you. He could help do whatever it took.”

“That’s quite a good idea,” agreed the man. He ambled slowly toward Randall, who was still unconscious on the ground behind Hershel.

“What about you?” said the woman.

“What about me?”

“What could you do?”

Hershel swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not really as good at anything as Randall is. I do well enough, I suppose, I’m good enough at it when I try, but... I don’t really share his passion for archaeology, or for… most things, really. I’m not quite sure what I want to do with my life yet, not like he is. I just don’t have his drive.”

Luke knew the Professor’s puzzle-solving face. He saw a realization click into place behind his eyes. “Oh, _no_ ,” he whispered.

Because he’d just betrayed himself. Because the man had never been walking toward Randall at all. Because the man had stretched his hand to the nape of his neck, lines and runes of red light appearing around his hand.

Hershel’s arms fell limply to his sides. He stayed upright for a few moments, as if suspended by some outside force, and then, slowly, eyes blank, he fell.

Accord tapped the next picture.

“All right, I’ve got the cover story in place,” said the man. “The main drive, too. Plus a trigger, just in case.”

“Why does it always come back to this?” said the woman. It was hard to tell with her blindfold on, but she was looking at the two limp bodies on the floor.

“We don’t have a choice,” sighed the man. “Other than killing them for good.”

“This isn’t all that different. You know that.”

The man closed his eyes. “It is for them. He’ll have another chance. And who knows? Maybe we’ll mess it up and they’ll remember someday.”

She tilted her head. “And then we’ll be doomed?”

“Well, if the reckless one doesn’t go past the cover story, we should be fine…”

“It’s a pretty big risk,” she said.

“It’s dumb and it’s sentimental and everything might just be doomed anyway,” he agreed. “But it’s the only way we can let them live. And if it weren’t for someone taking a crazy risk like that… we wouldn’t be here at all.”

She sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He smiled wryly. “Same here.”

“They are going to come down here, though,” she said, looking at the walls.

“Guess we’re gonna have to remodel. They’re usually expecting treasure and stuff, right?”

“Treasure?” A white orb about the size of a football with an etched face and a wide skull grin rolled into view. It spoke, with the voice of a young boy. “I can help with that! Though I have no idea where it all came from.”

“We sure do…”

“Oops,” said Accord, and the scene came to a stop. “I was going to stop the playback before Emil showed up. Too much to explain.”

“I… what was that thing?”

“That’s Emil,” said Accord. “He’s the last remnant of the pre-’Azran’ human civilization.”

“That… was human?”

“It’s complicated,” said Accord. “Maso is a hell of a drug...”

Luke shook his head. “So let me get this straight. There were humans, and then there was a weird magic plague and they all went crazy and died, and then there were robots and they fought each other all the time, and then they made us and ran away?”

“Basically.”

“This is insane!” yelled Luke.

“This is life,” said Accord, with a wry smile.

“And you didn’t answer any of my questions!”

“Ah, right, A2,” said Accord. “To be honest, I cheated a little with branch B. It’s one of the only ones where Aurora does live, so I wanted to show it to you, but it’s really, really rare. That only happens if A2 is having an _incredibly_ bad week. As in… both the other androids left on Earth are dead, there are UFOs over Hawai’i, and Kyoto’s been wiped off the map.” She tilted her head. “Or was it Osaka? No, Kyoto. That came later.”

Why even try to follow up on that? It would only get more incomprehensible. Luke shook his head. “Why are you even showing me all these miserable timelines?" he cried. "Every one is worse than the others! Why are you telling me all this?!"

"Because you asked me a question," said Accord.

"I wanted a future where Aurora could have lived, not-- not a dozen ways we all could have died!"

"You wouldn't have been able to understand it, though," said Accord. "Not without seeing all this."

Luke looked at her suspiciously. "You're telling me there's a good branch in there?"

"Well, 'good' can be a hard thing to judge," said Accord. "But everyone lives. Aurora lives. And it doesn't have to be sealed. Surprisingly, it's actually the only other stable branch. Your Professor doesn't fall into the other traps too often. Just look..."

She flipped a page back; Luke looked down to see a thick river of uncountable lines, all running downward (though were a couple at the edges looping...?). There was a picture of the branching point she'd showed him near the top, and from there the lines diverged-- one thick rope of lines, labeled A, and a smaller offshoot. There were even smaller branches of the offshoot labeled B and C and D, others as well, but the lines mainly stayed together, and were labeled E. Other stray lines, almost too fine to see, joined into it from further up the page, as well as from branch A, but the main point of divergence was very clear. "Why is the whole E branch so small?"

"Well, the line of events leading up to it is a bit chancy," said Accord. "First, they have to decide to implant a suggestion in young Hershel instead of just wiping his memories. The latter is simpler, and the former requires a faith in people, in the future, that can be a little hard for those two. Then, the suggestion has to be successfully triggered. Those are surprisingly hard to program. If they pick the wrong thing... if Aurora never sings... if the Professor isn't there when she does... none of this happens, and you're back to branch A."

"That doesn't really sound like a bad thing," said Luke. Though he did notice that branch A had a tributary of its own. There were probably ways things could have gone wrong in their timeline too. If they hadn't had enough people… Then again, what if Bronev had never stabbed Aurora in the first place? Or Emmy hadn’t turned? What if the Azran Legacy hadn’t been unlocked like that in the first place? Would it have saved them, or been their doom?

Accord shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe not. It's hard to judge. We recorders tend to just be happy if a branch doesn't have to be sealed."

"What does that mean, anyway?"

She smiled, but something shut closed behind her eyes. "At any rate, this is the ending you asked for. I promise." She held out the book.

"...I'm going to regret this," said Luke. But he looked down at the page anyway. The Nest, outside Bronev’s office. Layton had the eggs out, and he was looking down at them, pensively. Why the devil had they assembled the key in Targent’s headquarters, anyway? It had seemed safe enough to Luke at the time, but clearly it had been a horrible risk. If any of this were real. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

He shook his head, and looked back at the picture, at the Professor, whole and alive. He kept the Professor’s face in focus as the image shimmered to life and pulled him in.


	6. Branch E | Weight of the World

Some guardian he was. Though he’d never exactly volunteered for the role. There he’d continued, gathering these bloody artefacts, though he knew their union meant the world’s doom. Sought them all out. Got them all back. And now, they were all looking at him, waiting for him to reassemble the key to plague, to perdition, to Pandora’s box.

And the worst part was, he was actually going to do it. 

Why? Was he so afraid of diverging from their expectations? Had he so little imagination? Was he just that incapable of leaving a puzzle unsolved? But then, what choice did he have? It wasn't as if he could come up with a good enough excuse not to. It wasn't as if he were the only one in the world who could solve it. If not him, it would surely be Descole, or worse, Targent. Nothing had gone right since this whole business started, not even once. And he couldn’t think of a damned thing he could do about it.

He let out a deep breath. Every puzzle had an answer. This one would too. Just as long as he didn't despair. He would keep his cards close to his chest and wait for the opportune moment, and pray that the opportune moment had not already passed him by.

He cast the eggs before him; reunited, they glowed, hovered, tugged together by some unseen force. The pattern was self-evident. No puzzle could remain unanswered; no past could remain forever buried. 

The pieces slotted into place, easily, too easily. He was familiar with how this technology worked, by study and by… something else, hidden deep within his mind. He wondered what they might have hidden there, if it were just a strong attraction to archaeology and a fear of the Azran Legacy, or if there might be more orders, more information, hiding beneath that. They’d sent him off to become the foremost expert in the Azran, after all; perhaps they’d stacked the deck. 

It was an unknown, an unknowable. He finished with the last egg; the pieces came together with a cascade of metal pings. The key of the Azran was theirs.

Aurora took hold of it, wincing. “My head…” she said. Layton couldn’t fault her. If this were also the key to her memories…

“No,” Aurora whispered. “Oh, no. It can’t be.”

Definitely the key to her memories. “Aurora,” he said, and reached for her shoulder. She twisted away from him, stumbling toward the edge of the building.

His breath caught. “Aurora,” he said again.

“I finally remember,” she said. “The Azran Legacy… I know what it is, now.”

She was still walking toward the edge, and he didn’t have to guess why. “Aurora, you mustn’t.”

“It can’t be revealed,” she said. “It can’t ever be set free. And as long as I’m…”

“Aurora,” said Layton, urgently. “Aurora. I _know_.”

“I remember who I am, now,” she said, staring down at the city, too far below. “And as long as I--”

“That’s not true,” said the Professor, reaching out. “Aurora, the ruins will remain, whatever becomes of you. Humans are persistent creatures. You may not know much of us yet, but you have seen enough of Targent that you should be able to believe me when I say we will throw ourselves against the door for as long as it takes. Are you so certain it is impenetrable?"

“Without the key--”

“They’ll break down the door,” said Layton. “They’d have the luxury of time. And in that sanctuary, with no guide, with no warning--”

Aurora clutched the key to her chest. “Then what am I supposed to do?” she cried. “How do I stop it?!”

Layton opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I have no idea. But I know that this isn’t the answer. And I know that we can find it if we work together.”

She looked at him, anguished, and he hoped devoutly that he wasn’t lying to her. But he couldn’t be. He had to believe he wasn’t. Every puzzle had an answer.

“Aurora,” said Luke softly, reaching out his hand.

That did it. Aurora sobbed quietly, and tottered back toward them, away from the brink.

Layton closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief that he knew was premature. He had the keys to the Azran Legacy in the heart of Targent. Bronev had let them go because he knew it didn’t matter a damn who made the key as long as he knew where the lock was. God alone knew what Desmond was planning; he’d half expected the man to stab Bronev in the middle of his office. Not that he could blame him, if he truly did have anything to do with the death of his family. There was also the question of just how Targent had managed to track them down all this time; how they had come close enough to steal an egg. That unsolved mystery might be dreadfully important. If the other Azran had heard about this venture yet, that might be a difficulty of inconceivable proportions. And those were just the problems he knew about.

It seemed utterly insurmountable. But one move at a time.

“So that’s the key,” said Desmond. “Perhaps the power in it is simply too overwhelming for you. May I see it?”

“No,” said Layton.

Desmond shot him an offended look. “It’s a priceless, peerless relic. You can’t fault me for being curious.”

Layton weighed his options carefully. He could let Desmond take the key, but he expected the man would very likely take it and run straight to the lock. That was unlikely to be advantageous. He could attempt to politely demur and keep up the status quo. Tempting, though the man would probably keep an alert eye for any opportunity to take it, and without alerting the others to his true identity, it would be difficult to induce them to keep up a proper guard. Or they could have it out, right now, and judging by the look on Desmond’s face, it was very possible that the mere act of deliberating this long had tipped his hand. Strike and counterstrike, lunge and parry… Why was it always like this between them?

“Tell us, Aurora,” said Layton. “What is the Azran Legacy?”

“I…” Aurora wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. Human or not, she was so unmistakably a person, and growing into more of one by the day. “I don’t know if I can explain. I don’t know if I can find the words.”

“Please,” said Layton. “Try.”

Luke took her arm. She looked down at him, and took a deep breath. “There are archives and historical records, yes,” she said. “But there are also our greatest mistakes. The Azran fell for a reason. If we open that gate--”

“I hardly see why it should be assumed we’d make the same mistakes,” said Desmond.

Layton raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?” he couldn’t help but murmur. Desmond folded his arms, looking cross. 

“Even if you don’t,” she said. “It would only take one false move, and-- oh, I can’t even think it.”

“Would it be war?” Layton tried to think of reasonable leading questions. “Weapons, of some sort?”

“The weapons are the least of it,” she said, and laughed. “The weapons would destroy cities, and that would be the least of it.”

“Professor Layton,” said Desmond, “you’re suggesting that we don’t open the door, aren’t you?”

“I think it seems like it would be a foolish decision,” said Layton.

“But you said it yourself,” said Desmond. “We’ll get into it eventually anyway.”

“That hardly seems a good reason to hasten the day.”

“Would you rather it be us or some Targent thugs?”

“I’d rather it be neither--”

“Did you _not just explain_ that isn’t actually an option?”

He had. 

“If we open the door,” said Desmond, “we can decide what to do with what’s inside.”

Could they? Layton doubted that. It had to pass out of their hands eventually, unless it was destroyed. That was a thought. Perhaps the other Azran would show up. They’d seemed quite good at destroying things.

“If we don’t open that door, it’s a ticking time bomb,” said Desmond. “It’s Pandora’s Box. Someday, someone is going to open it. Someday, the bomb is going to go off. Should we wait and be taken unawares, or try to defuse it now?”

The man was arguing for his own selfish purposes, but Layton wondered-- perhaps he actually was right. It seemed suicidal to precipitate what could be such a catastrophe, but perhaps the measure of control, no matter how small, might be worth it?

“I need to think about this,” said Layton.

“Can I--”

“No, Professor Sycamore.”

“You didn’t even let me--”

“You’ve waited years for this,” he said. “You can grant me a few minutes.”

Desmond huffed. “Fine,” he said. “I’m headed for the Bostonius. Meet me there with your decision.”

He stormed away. Layton needed to discuss strategy with Aurora, quite urgently, and he wanted to do it alone. “Emmy, could you keep an eye on him?” he asked.

Emmy nodded smartly and hurried after him. “Professor,” said Aurora, “you can’t do this.”

“Luke,” said Layton, “I need to talk with Aurora, alone. Could you head back for the ship with Emmy and Professor Sycamore? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Luke didn’t look happy, but he nodded, and hurried to catch the elevator down.

“Professor,” said Aurora, “I don’t know if I can explain it, but we can’t do this. Please. We absolutely mustn’t.”

“I understand that, Aurora, but--”

Aurora looked at the edge of the building again. “You _don’t_ understand--”

“It’s still not tall enough, my dear,” he sighed. “I’m not much of a student of physics, nor certainly of your design, but I’m fairly certain the drop simply wouldn’t damage you enough to solve anything at all. It would simply render you immobile, at best, and that would hardly help matters, would it?”

“...What?” Aurora stared up at him.

“I know what the Azran legacy is, Aurora,” said the Professor, taking hold of her hand. “I know what you are.”

“But… how?”

Where to start with that one? “You’re not the last of the Azran,” said the Professor. 

She looked torn between fear and hope. “I’m… I’m not?”

“Granted, I’m not sure the rest are good company, but we met under extremely unfortunate circumstances,” said Layton. “I fear I am somewhat biased against them. But I understand, Aurora. I know about the Androids and the Machines. I know about the... What did they call it? The logic virus? I swear to you, Aurora, I do know what’s at stake here. And I’ve been trying desperately to find a way to circumvent it.”

“Then why-- why did we gather the eggs?” said Aurora. “I don’t understand.”

“I remembered, unfortunately, somewhat late,” said Layton. “You remember when Professor Sycamore asked you to sing?”

“That triggered your memory,” she said, and laughed. “You really do understand…”

“Altogether too well,” he agreed. “Desmond is right. He’s fanatical and wildly biased, but he’s right. We can’t keep the lid on Pandora’s box forever.”

The lid of Pandora’s box… Perhaps that was the answer.

“Then what do we do?” said Aurora, looking desperate. “Isn’t there anything we can do to stop it?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” said Layton. “But I’m going to need your help.”

“Anything,” said Aurora. “Anything in the world.”

“Tell me,” he said, “in as much detail as you possibly can… what is going to happen when we open that door?”

(Luke didn’t need Accord to tell him when she was skipping ahead anymore. He was getting the hang of this, and he was pretty sure that was a terrible thing. It was really cruel of her to pick now to skip ahead, though, and he wondered if he managed to say that aloud, because he could swear he heard her laugh.)

Back to the Bostonius. Sycamore was leaning against the door. Emmy was polishing her camera lens. Luke had paused several blocks away to wait for them, and he could have sworn, before they came into sight, he heard a snatch of song.

But he must have been mistaken; they were silent when they came into his line of sight, the Professor resolute, Aurora looking grim. The Professor was holding Aurora’s hand; Luke ran forward and took his other arm. “Professor?”

“It’s all right, Luke,” said the Professor. But he took Luke’s hand as well, and squeezed it tight. Together, they walked the last few blocks back toward the Bostonius.

Emmy looked up; Sycamore levelled something perilously close to a glare at them. “Have you seen sense?” he asked.

Layton took a deep breath. He looked untroubled, but his grip tightened on Luke’s hand. “We’ll go together, Desmond,” he said. “No running off on your own.”

“Why would you think I’d do that?”

“I can’t fathom why I might suspect you of becoming hotheaded where Targent are involved,” said the Professor. “Nevertheless, I feel the irrational need to reiterate that this can be a team effort, and that I am also keeping the key.”

Sycamore scowled. “Your lack of faith wounds me.”

Layton elected not to respond to that. “Let’s go,” he said. 

Luke bent his head behind Layton’s back to look at Aurora. Her face was still, but her body was trembling. “Please, god,” he heard her whisper. “Please, let this work.”

(Skipping ahead. She’d snuck in a change of perspective on him; he scowled and focused on the Professor as hard as he could. He didn’t care what he’d have been thinking. He didn’t want to know what he’d have been thinking. What he wanted was the truth, and the Professor was by far the most likely to have it.)

Back to the ice cave, though it was considerably less icy now. “The sanctuary is awakening,” Aurora said, sounding quite miserable. “It’s welcoming the person who was brave enough to find the key.”

“Well, it’s nice that something is,” said Luke. Luke still so wanted the world to be Fair, and give rewards to the just...

“So this is it,” said Emmy. “The prize is just ahead.”

“I’d hardly call it a prize,” said the Professor. “Though that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s a _prize_ …”

Sycamore shot him a suspicious look. It was likely he should keep his mouth shut. His mind was awhirl; there were too many pieces on the board. Desmond should be tractable enough, until the door was opened, at any rate. He’d probably try to betray them later, but it wouldn’t make any sense to do so yet. Bronev was following them, but the gate room should take care of his threat. And if it didn’t, well… 

One move at a time. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to play a slider puzzle in the same way again. Trapped by tens of boxes, movable hardly an inch at a time, inching forward and back toward what might hopefully become a path toward the exit… 

“Are you certain we shouldn’t bring Raymond?” he said.

“If Targent is after us, we may need to make a quick escape,” said Sycamore. “It’s out of the question.”

Layton sighed. “Let’s go,” he said. 

They stepped into the cave. The door glowed at their approach. Layton could feel the key vibrating in his hands, wanting to be used.

“Let me,” said Professor Sycamore. His eyes were burning. Layton hoped that if he hadn’t already known Desmond was Descole before, he’d certainly have realised it now.

“The Professor’s the one who assembled the thing!” Luke cried. “That’s not fair at all!”

Layton could not care less about the fairness of the thing. Sycamore had been searching for longer, it didn’t matter now, and furthermore, he was just as glad not to take this step himself. “Take it, Desmond,” he said, and held out the key.

Sycamore blinked, as if he hadn’t quite expected that. “Thank you,” he said, and took it. Luke made a disappointed sound but had no further comment. Sycamore turned toward the door, striding slowly toward it, and raised the key high.

“Stop right there, boy.”

Right on cue. Bronev strode in, with a well-armed henchman. One? Why only one? What mad hubris-- “I will take it from here, ladies and gentlemen.”

Sycamore growled, spinning around. He looked at the henchman, and more specifically his assault rifle, in disgust. “The same old tactics. I should have expected this.”

Layton wondered if he actually hadn’t. It would be remarkably shortsighted not to. The man had practically explained to them he’d be coming. “Hand over the key,” ordered Bronev. 

Sycamore looked like he was seriously considering risking the gunshot. If he stalled a little longer, the field might-- but no; he shook his head and flung the key at Bronev, with some force. Regrettably, the man caught it. Layton was fairly certain Sycamore had been aiming for his head.

“You mustn’t do this,” said Aurora. “You don’t understand what you’re risking.”

“Some Emissary you are,” said Bronev. “Isn’t it your sacred duty to pass down the legacy of your people?”

Her infernal programming, more like, and Layton could see her fighting it. He wasn’t certain that first humanity hadn’t deserved their fate. At times, he was having doubts about the second. But those cracks were where the darkness seeped in.

“Give that back!” Luke cried. “That key is rightfully ours!”

Bronev sneered. “You would never have been able to create this key if I hadn’t let you,” he said, “every step of the way. Now stand aside.”

The seal under the door took that moment to begin to hum. What miserable timing. “Professor--” said Luke.

“You know what’s happening, don’t you, Luke?” They’d seen it before, and Luke was a remarkably clever lad. He nodded, determination burning in his eyes. The boy was going to be a force to be reckoned with someday. Assuming he made it past this one. But Layton would do everything in his power to see that happen.

“What--” the thug yelped, before the seal took his gun-- no, damn everything, took him, body and all, to the very ceiling with a clang. They’d never get him down from there. Aurora had said she didn’t have access to these systems.

_One_ move at a time. “Now, Luke!”

Luke dashed over, snatching up the key while Bronev was still trying to understand what had just happened. Triumphant, he rushed back, returning it to Layton’s arms. Layton suspected the thought of returning it to Sycamore hadn’t even crossed Luke’s mind.

“What in the name of--”

“You’re a poor researcher, Bronev,” said Layton. “The Azran don’t allow weapons in their sanctuaries.”

“It was just the same in Hoogland,” Luke said, smug.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?” said Bronev, and smiled. “How clever. I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“You should turn around and run back to town now, Bronev,” said Luke. “We’ve won.”

“Have you, now?” said Bronev, and looked behind them, at--

Emmy rushed up, snatching Luke into her arms, a blade of crystal in her hands. “Professor! Hand over the keystone!”

“Emmy,” he said, honestly perplexed. He’d realised it was a possibility, but he couldn’t fathom what on earth could possibly motivate her to do such a thing. It had seemed one of the less likely explanations for Targent’s knowledge of their actions. “What’s going on?”

“Stop it, Emmy!” Luke cried. “This isn’t funny!”

“You can’t be serious,” said Layton. “Truly… all this time…?”

Emmy steeled herself. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been working for Targent all along. My instructions--”

“That much is apparent,” said the Professor. “But why on earth are you doing this? You know what’s at stake. The fate of the very world--”

“I’m doing this for Uncle Leon,” she said. “He saved my life, he gave me everything. He’s all I have in this world!”

“Dear God,” Desmond said, and laughed. “ _Uncle Leon_. What a fantastic parent you’ve abruptly chosen to become, Bronev. What happened? Was it the Change?”

Bronev didn’t matter right now. “Emmy,” said Layton, “Bronev is also an inhabitant of the world his actions are about to destroy. You'd choose to kill him rather than defy him?"

"Oh, don't sound so surprised, Layton," said Desmond. "It's the only rational choice. The man does tend to murder his family. Particularly the women."

"Shut up," snarled Emmy. Layton threw a sidelong glance at his brother, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"So it was Targent, was it?" he said. "I feared as much."

"Orders directly from the top," said Desmond. 

"He didn't know," said Emmy.

"So he's claimed," said Desmond, "but I find the excuse that he simply didn't know that it was _my_ wife and daughter he was murdering a little thin."

"You know damn well it was an accident," snapped Emmy.

"He meant only to kidnap them to force a man into slavery?" Layton queried, unimpressed.

"Oh, no," said Desmond. "You underestimate my family. He didn't want my wife as leverage. He wanted her gone."

"Oh?"

"She was following the money," said Desmond, and smiled bitterly. "She was an accountant."

"Somehow I can't say I expected that."

"I am hardly what one imagines an accountant's spouse to look like. But here I am."

“You’re wrong,” said Emmy. “You’ve misunderstood everything. All he’s doing is for you.”

“If he were interested in doing anything for me, he’d currently be burning in hell,” said Desmond.

That wasn't going to help matters. “Come on, Emmy,” said Layton, gently. “Stop this madness. Let Luke go.”

Emmy’s grip on her blade tightened. Luke cried out as it scratched his neck.

“Emmy,” Layton tried, one more time. She had to be reachable. The Emmy he’d known all this time... “ _Stop_.”

“You really think I’ll stop? After all this… You think I have the _luxury_ to _stop_?” Emmy’s eyes went steely. “Hand over the keystone, Professor. I won’t ask again.”

Layton took a deep breath. This was, at the very least, going to lose him precious time. Not that he could’ve done much with that time anyway, given that evacuation warning--

One move at a time. Layton took a move from his brother’s playbook, and threw the keystone with some velocity at Bronev’s head. Regrettably, the man was still as good a catch as ever.

Bronev smirked. “Good work, Emmeline.”

“Does she get a biscuit now?” Desmond muttered. Layton pretended not to hear him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Professor Layton,” said Bronev. “It’s evident you’ve grown attached to Emmeline. I must say, her performance was outstanding.”

It really was. He hadn’t counted on this at all. It might not make any real difference, might even be advantageous, but-- it hurt.

Bronev turned toward the door. “Stop it,” Aurora cried. “You have to listen to me. You mustn’t use that key!”

“Silly girl. I _have_ to use it!” Bronev brandished it in front of him, and--

Layton took a deep breath as the door opened in a flash of light. He’d known this was coming. He’d hoped to have more control over it, but he’d known this was coming. One move at a time. One move at a time.

A small crowd of more poorly-armed henchmen poured into the room, settling behind their leader. Aurora looked at them, at Luke, at Bronev, at the open door. “All these millennia,” said Aurora, “and nothing has changed…” She met his eyes, hers a picture of blank despair. He hoped his didn’t mirror them.

“Come, now, girl,” said Bronev. “You’re to help us solve the final puzzle.” He grabbed her arm. It worried Layton deeply how limp she was as he pulled her away. Emmy shot him one final, unreadable glance as she took Luke after them. 

“Of course she wouldn’t stop,” Layton muttered to himself. He strode over to a jagged-edged stalagmite, giving it a sharp kick; it clattered to the floor, long as a blade. “No one stops. No one ever stops.” He took up the blade and glared at Desmond, who was also a perfect illustration of the premise.

“Well, this has gone brilliantly,” said Desmond.

“We haven’t the time for games.”

“Fair enough,” said Desmond, and pulled on his cape, in a whirl of fabric. “It’s bloody cold in here,” he said, watching Layton’s reaction, seeming unsurprised by the lack thereof. “I take it you know who I am, then?”

“I do indeed,” he said, and hesitated. Perhaps he shouldn’t-- but no, if it were left secret, Bronev might attempt to use it against them. (If he even knew or remembered. How reprehensible, that there wasn’t even any sign?) There wasn’t time. “Hershel.”

It was almost worth it to see the look of shock on his brother’s face. “What-- you--”

“You thought I’d forget? I’d never forget.” He scoffed, catching his obvious lie. “It would take Azran technology to make me forget,” he amended, mostly to himself, turning toward the door.

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you--”

“We need to stop him,” said Layton. “We have no time for petty quarrels. Can we work together on this?”

“...I quite literally thought you’d never ask,” said Desmond. He still looked more than a little stunned.

“Let’s go.” Layton hurried through the door, trusting that his brother would be directly behind him. He had too many reasons to follow and none to turn back.

The hallway started with cut rock, but quickly faded back into a cave; it was a minute’s journey along the path before they reached another cavern, cut by a crevasse. “Professoooor!” Luke called, from the other side.

“Well, I suppose you’ll insist on rescuing him,” said Desmond. “Of course, either way, we’ll have to get to the other side--”

Layton paid him no attention; he went directly to the bridge mechanism. It would be the work of a moment to operate it.

“You seem awfully familiar with that,” said Desmond.

“This isn’t my first Azran sanctuary,” said Layton. He slid the final piece into place and ran across the gap. “Luke!”

“Professor! I’m so glad to see you safe!” Luke paused, looking suspiciously at Desmond. “Where on earth did you get that cape?”

“I won it at cards,” said Desmond.

“All that matters is we’re working together now,” said Layton.

“Hang on, you’re not saying that he’s actually--”

“All that matters is we’re working together now.”

“He can’t possibly be Descole, that man would stab you in the back as soon as--”

“Luke! We are working together now!”

“I suppose I should have known better than to kidnap someone’s mother,” Desmond muttered.

Luke was still glaring at him. “There’s no way we can possibly trust him--”

“Luke, he’s Professor Sycamore!” Layton tried. The last thing they needed was to be felled by some petty infighting.

“Which means he’s an even better liar than I--”

There was no time for this. “He’s my brother!”

Luke gaped at him. “He’s your _what_?”

“Mother,” said Desmond. “I am truly a master of disguise.”

Luke stared at him, utterly appalled. “Desmond, this is not the time!” admonished Layton.

“Apologies,” said Sycamore, with a cough. “It was impossible to resist.”

“Try _harder_ next time, Desmond.”

“I don’t understand anything whatsoever,” said Luke.

“Such is the mark of true wisdom,” said Desmond, clapping Luke on the shoulder. “Did they leave you behind, then?”

Luke shook himself. “That’s right, I’ve got to tell you-- Emmy is still on our side!”

“Naturally,” said Desmond, sounding entirely unconvinced.

“She let me go, and--”

“Well, of course she did. Why slow yourself down carrying a hostage when he’s ceased to be useful?”

“AND,” Luke said, “she explained everything to me. She said she thinks Bronev is really a good person, just obsessed with the Azran, and he just has to see the end of this--”

“The end of everything, more like--”

“And she’s hoping the Professor can make him see sense!”

“Yell that a little louder,” said Desmond, “I don’t think Bronev could hear you.”

“I wouldn’t have to shout if you didn’t keep interrupting me!”

“Luke is entirely correct,” said Layton, “and also, I might point out, a small child. Why is he not the most childish one in this conversation?”

Luke looked at the Professor. “There is no way you’re related to this man.”

“You’d be surprised,” Layton sighed. “We have to hurry. The key will unlock every door in this place for him. We can’t waste time if we’re to have a hope of catching up.”

“But this is _Descole_ \--”

“I’ve known that for weeks, Luke,” said Layton. “You’re going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing.” Which was a lie he could hardly tell with a straight face, but Luke grumbled, folding his arms. 

“You have my solemn promise that I will not betray you today,” said Desmond, which was the funniest joke Layton had ever heard him tell. But despair was the enemy.

Luke looked suspiciously at Desmond. “Brothers?”

“Yes, Luke.”

“Are you sure you weren’t double-adopted or something?”

“He has his mother’s eyes,” said Desmond.

“You must take after your father, then,” said Luke. 

Layton was fairly certain he actually heard Desmond hiss. “Come on,” he said, and pulled Luke ahead.

“About that topic,” he said, as they wound through the cave, “I would remind you that it is how a person is raised and his choices that determine who he is to become.”

“And Descole made terrible ones?”

“I mean to say, that if Bronev should suddenly mention he’s our father--”

“Then that’s a complete and obvious lie and you should deck him.”

Layton massaged his forehead. “That’s not what I was meaning to… oh, what does it matter…”

“You know, we could just leave him behind,” said Desmond.

“We could just leave _you_ behind!”

No, they couldn’t. One move at a time. One move at a time. 

The passage opened again; a door barred their way. “Wonderful,” said Desmond. “And I suppose he just waltzed right through, with the key and Aurora.”

“Of course he did,” Layton sighed. They headed closer.

“‘When the need is great, there is always a way’,” Desmond translated. “‘Now prove your worth.’ Er...”

Layton ducked underneath him to the door-opening mechanism. He hardly even needed to read the actual riddle; they’d used a simple die, it was child’s play.

“You said this wasn’t your first Azran sanctuary,” Desmond said, suspicious.

Layton didn’t have time to explain, he didn’t have time for any of this. Though it was also possible he didn’t dare risk _not_ explaining. He slotted the stones into their places. “Didn’t anything about Randall’s story seem odd to you?”

“Ascot? What on earth has Ascot--”

The door opened. “We must hurry,” said Layton, and led them through.

“I admit the man seemed comically inept,” said Desmond, “but I assumed that was due to his age. But now that you mention it…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” sighed Layton, seeing the next room, a complex maze of platforms and canals and gears.

“It’s quite impressive, though,” said Luke. “The size of this place!”

It was; even with such a sword hanging over his head, Layton had to admit he was impressed by the sheer engineering skill involved. “How many millennia has this been here? Even with the protection of the cave, it’s a marvel.”

“Imagine the power and wisdom needed to create this,” said Desmond. “Imagine it in Bronev’s hands.”

“I’ve been trying not to, thank you very much.” 

“But I don’t see a path,” said Luke, squinting ahead. “Do we have to swim?”

“It’s a puzzle,” said Layton, as Desmond laughed and said “Hardly.” They shot mildly irritated glances at each other.

“Oh, something with the water level again?” said Luke. He was getting used to many of the typical forms. “I think that might be a boat over there…”

“How many puzzles are left in this bloody place?”

“Too many,” Layton sighed. Luke looked at him in shock. “Luke, I’m going to need you to be the runner on this one. You know how this goes. You can never traverse the same path twice, and you’ll have to hit all the switches to free the boat. Junctions and corners are safe, but you’d best run across the other tiles. I’ll get a better view and give you directions.”

“On it!” Luke hurried toward the starting square. Of course he wouldn’t even have to ask where the puzzle began. Layton spotted a set of stairs to his left and began to climb. 

Desmond followed after him, a dark presence behind his shoulder. “Those ruins you and Ascot stumbled into were well explored. It was of interest, but hardly so similar to this.”

“To the switch on your right,” Layton called.

“But then, you spoke of memories, and Ascot did lose his,” said Desmond. “I admit I did find it odd that he’d never pursued the matter himself. I’d been afraid he’d be too passive to act. Then I met the man, and nothing could be further…”

“Follow the path to the first stairs you see, then turn right. You’ll continue that way until you hit the wall.”

“I’d assumed it was some barbaric small-town thing,” said Desmond, “either the one he washed up in or the one he’d left. Evidently I was wrong, though, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“To your right around the bend, then forward until you hit another wall.”

“He didn’t lose his memory in the fall, did he?” said Desmond. 

“It was taken,” Layton said. “To the left until you hit another wall, then left to the next switch.”

“Which doesn’t agree with your story of what happened there. Which must be a fabrication. One he agreed with, so not fabricated by you.”

“I see the way from here, Professor!” Luke called. At this point, it would be difficult for him to step wrong. He kept an eye out anyway, just in case.

“You found something down there,” said Desmond. “Or... someone?”

“You were fortunate enough to find the Azran Emissary,” said Layton, focused on Luke’s progress. “We found their…” He struggled to find a word for it. They hadn’t exactly explained their personal histories. “...decommissioned military officers. From a different generation, I believe. Or a different nation? They didn’t exactly explain...”

“What…?”

“Aurora’s not alone, Desmond. Very nearly, but she’s not the last Azran.” Luke was headed for the last switch; Layton started down the stairs. The timing of this was crucial, and impossible to coordinate. It all depended on what was happening in that chamber… and if Emmy had the sense or the ability to talk the man down… 

“Got it!” called Luke, from the far side of the room. He untied a boat and began to steer it their way.

“But their civilization died thousands of years ago. How could any others yet live?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Figured _what_ out, you maddening little--”

“Come on!” said Luke, edging the boat in their direction.

“Thank you, Luke, that was excellent work,” said Layton, and hopped in the boat. “We must hurry.”

Desmond scowled at Layton as he hopped in behind him. 

“Is he picking fights?” said Luke, with a suspicious glare. 

“No, Luke.”

“It’s just he certainly doesn’t seem to do much else with his life.”

“One day, boy, you’ll be in university,” said Desmond, “and you’ll rue the day you dismissed a professorship as if it were nothing.”

“I wasn’t even alive then,” said Luke. “I just know what you’re doing now.”

“He’s hardly seen you do much else, has he?” Layton mused.

Desmond glared at them both. “Some battles must be fought,” he said.

Layton looked down at the makeshift blade in his lap. “Some,” he said. “Not all.” He wanted to say, _You never had to fight me._ But that would lead to a debate that would be altogether too long, and their boat was catching up against the shore. Luke hopped out first, then Descole, and Layton followed behind them, herding them to the next--

Oh, not this place. He looked around at the torch-lit, statue-lined hall with considerable irritation. He didn’t know what they were thinking with this puzzle. What a pointless, dangerous waste of time.

“It’s too hot in here,” said Luke, looking around nervously.

“It’s the statues,” said Layton. “They shoot fire from their eyes.”

“They were really determined to keep people out, weren’t they?”

“For good reason.”

“They look breakable enough,” said Desmond, and took out his blade. Odd that it hadn’t met the same fate as the goon’s gun. Presumably his brother was a better researcher than his father. Which hardly beggared belief. Or perhaps there was some other explanation. “Leave this to me.”

Layton inclined his head, conceding the ground. “Take care,” he said.

Desmond stepped onto the field, his eyes calculating. “They took your memories, then,” he called. “The question becomes how you regained them.”

He almost misstepped; he looked around, doubled back, watching the statues’ behaviour. “That odd fainting fit aboard the Bostonius. They left you a trigger, and you’ve been activated. Now, why?”

“What is he talking about?” Luke whispered. Layton didn’t answer. Where would he even begin?

“For this reason,” said Desmond, and smashed through a statue, whirling to take another with the same step. “This very reason. To stop this. Didn’t they?”

He circled behind a statue to his left, cracking it with the hilt of his blade.“You’ve been a little too ready to believe Aurora’s dire warnings. A little too driven to stop it.”

And Desmond and Bronev had been a little too ready to ignore Aurora’s warnings, but that wasn’t worth bringing up now. Desmond was taking a long way around to his next statue, eyes focused on his target. “You’ve been an archaeologist long enough to know that curses are overblown and people lie. But you’re utterly convinced that the threat is precisely as real as she says it is, or worse.”

Considerably worse. Desmond smashed his next target and started honing on his next. “You were forewarned,” he said. “But I’m wondering. How can you be sure they told you the truth?”

He took out another statue, and started the long path to the last. “What if it was just a lie, a manipulation? They influenced you in other ways, didn’t they? Made you forget me, made you forget Targent. How do you know the Azran Legacy is what you think it is?”

Layton wasn’t sure he had a convincing answer for that. He was certain, down to his bones, but he’d been compromised. Aurora was certain, but she was Azran herself, and also suspect. He watched Descole circle around to the last statue, predatory, graceful. And the answer came to him.

“It’s in the walls,” he said. “It’s in this room. It’s in every line they ever wrote. It’s in the puzzles in our way. It’s in the warnings that they left. You know what the Azran Legacy is, because you’re an archaeologist. That’s why you’re trying so very hard to convince yourself otherwise. And for years, you’ve been watching Bronev do the very same thing.”

Desmond looked at him, from far across the room, eyes achingly clear without his mask. He broke the last statue without another word.

Layton took that as a concession of the point.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he’d be good at stabbing things in the back,” Luke muttered. “The room was made for him.”

“Luke…” Layton reproved.

“Come on,” said Luke. “Let’s get going!” He hurried ahead, toward the exit-- but one of the shattered statues began to glow--

“What-- no!” Descole cried, and lunged for Luke, with a flutter of his cape--

Layton smashed his stone blade against the statue with all his might. It shattered, but so did the statue, its last volley widely missing the mark. “You’ve got to be more careful, both of you,” he reproved, and headed for the door. “Come, now. There’s no time!”

Luke looked up at Desmond. “...Did you just try to save me?”

“Well, we all have our moments of weakness,” Desmond muttered, discomfited, and hurried to follow. Luke had to run to catch up.

Layton dropped the useless hilt of his makeshift blade. He hoped he wouldn’t regret its loss-- no, no. They had more than enough blades already.

They emerged into the next chamber, a bluer area with elegant columns and a seal inlaid in the floor.

“It’s a dead-end!” Luke cried.

“It’s a lift,” Layton said, and knelt down to work the levers.

“By all the gods,” said Desmond, watching him, “I’d love to know what’s lurking in that pretty little head of yours.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“And don’t patronize him,” Luke added grumpily.

Layton pulled the lever into place, and watched the lift rise from the floor. They’d been making good time. Knowing the layout of the place, they couldn’t be much further. “It’s very likely,” he said, “that we’ll find Bronev and the others at the end of this lift.”

“It’s about time,” said Luke.

“This is the last chance to turn back.”

“Turn back to what?” exclaimed Luke, in disbelief. “I’m your apprentice! There’s no way I’m not seeing this through!”

He shouldn’t let him. He couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t risk it. He was the worst guardian possible. “And Desmond--”

“You’re not seriously going to try to dissuade me?”

“No,” said Layton, “but I am going to ask you to keep the stabbing to an absolute minimum. Including Bronev. Yes, I know he deserves it.”

“Self-defense?”

“If the alternative is literally certain and immediate death,” said Layton. 

“But uncertain death or critical injury are right out?” Desmond frowned. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Promise me,” said Layton. “Please. You can do whatever you like tomorrow, if there is one. But for the next hour--”

“I’ll do my best,” Desmond huffed.

Layton wasn’t sure he could trust him to keep to that, but he didn’t have a choice. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They entered the lift; it started to rise of its own accord. Luke leaned against the wall, watching their ascent, then tilted backward to eye the professors, a wary look in his eye.

Layton had been hoping… He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for. All of the options were terrible in one way or another. Were life more fair, they’d have proceeded with the key, made their way to the control room, and researched ways to destroy or seal the legacy at their leisure… but that had never actually been a possibility. Of the available options, perhaps it was best that…

He shook his head. One move at a time. 

The doors opened, to a grand gallery hall of pillars, a cathedral. Layton let out a sigh of relief; they’d caught up at last. There they were: Bronev, and Aurora, and Emmy--

\-- _just_ Bronev, Aurora, and Emmy--

“Well, I see he’s managed to lose the guards,” muttered Desmond. “Can’t fathom how, but he always did hire incompetents. Good luck for us, anyway.”

“No. There were… half a dozen of them, easily,” said Layton, stunned. “Half a dozen! How the _devil_ did he--” 

“Shh,” said Desmond, putting a hand on his arm. “They’re talking.”

Luke looked up at him, concerned. Of course he’d have noticed that slip. He couldn’t worry about it now. One move at a time, and everything was vital. He listened carefully.

“Well, my dear Emmeline, it’s time for you to shine.” 

“Didn’t I just tell you that this room is dangerous?” said Aurora. She sounded almost too weary to care. But she was still trying.

“I’ve spent years training you for this day,” said Bronev. “I know you’ll be up to the task.”

“The man can’t even solve his own puzzles,” Desmond muttered. 

“Emmy, listen to me,” said Aurora. “The traps in this next room are deadly. They make the previous ones look harmless. You might not make it out! You don’t have to listen to him!”

“What other option do I have?” said Emmy. “I’ve already betrayed the others. If I turn back now--”

“Everything would be perfectly all right,” called Layton, “and it would be the best possible resolution of events.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Layton,” Desmond hissed. Layton didn’t know why; they hadn’t a chance of hiding anyway, unless they managed to sneak behind the pillars. He strode forward, trying to catch Emmy’s eyes. She wouldn’t look at him; her face was turned away.

“We could end this,” said Layton. “Here and now. You could--”

“No,” said Emmy.

“It will be the _death_ of us, Emmy--”

“You’re never going to stop him without hurting him,” said Emmy, “and I’m never letting you hurt him.”

“That does leave one obvious solution,” said Desmond.

Emmy laughed. “You think you can take me, do you?”

Of course he did. Layton had no idea if he was right, but with Desmond being Descole, with Emmy being like this, any duel could easily become a duel to the death, and that couldn’t be countenanced. How could he avert it?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he sighed, and headed for the door.

“Professor!”

“Layton, what the hell do you think you’re--”

“Wait, you can’t,” said Emmy, alarmed. “You could get hurt, you could even--”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, as the door closed behind him. He was the Puzzle Professor, and she was doing her utmost to kill him. And she was concerned at him facing a puzzle? What the devil had Bronev done to the poor woman? She’d never been obviously stupid before.

Here, alone with a puzzle, he felt more relaxed than he had in hours. Granted, that was saying very little. The lasers and spikes did keep one on edge. But this: this dance: moving precisely, choreographing every movement: this was his, this was what he had been built for, by every party that had ever had a hand in his shaping. 

Maybe that was what Emmy was thinking. Maybe she’d been built to be a guard dog, a weapon. Maybe she’d been taught that the ends justified the means. Or maybe the man had taught her that she was without worth except as she proved herself worthy to him. It seemed hard to reconcile with the woman he knew, but such things could be hidden deep.

Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself that she could have it all, somehow; that the Azran Legacy wasn’t so bad; that Bronev would turn back from his path before it was too late. Perhaps she was even right. The final lock was a daunting one. Perhaps Bronev would shrink at the last.

Oh, yes, he could understand that hope. But given the consequences at stake, he couldn’t afford to indulge it too far.

Oh; he was at the end of the maze. He stared at the switch that would open up the hallway to them all, thinking very carefully. The Azran would have measures to prevent outside interference in the… choice. But they had no way of detecting intent. As long as he was close enough to the bearer of the key, he should be able to approach. He couldn’t rush ahead to the goal, not without the key, but if he kept pace…

He took a deep breath, and flipped the switch. The walls around him shuddered; the maze walls came down, the floors smoothed over. “It’s all right, now,” he called. “Though staying back regardless would be an excellent idea.”

Bronev looked at Emmy. “Emmeline?”

Of course he’d have her be the guinea pig. But she didn’t hesitate a moment before starting forward. She broke into a run, actually, hurrying toward him. “Professor--”

“Emmy--”

“I wanted to tell you,” she said. “I wanted to make you understand. Uncle Leon-- he’s always been good to me. He raised me like I was his own. He sent me to school; he supported me in everything, even when that was outlandish things like photography or karate. All he wants, Professor, is to use this technology for the good of the world.”

“But the ends don’t justify the _means_ , Emmy,” said Layton. “Such means!”

“It seemed the only way,” she said. She reached down, taking his hand. “Professor… you’ve spent too much time hidden away. Safe and cloistered in Gressenheller, in upper-class London, the guest of honour wherever you go. I was a photojournalist, did you know that? I worked for the Weekly World Times. You don’t know what I’ve seen out there. They wouldn’t print half of it.” She laughed. “It would be too shocking.”

“Emmy,” said Layton, “that _is_ the Azran legacy. It’s not a cure; it’s the disease.”

“I don’t think so,” said Emmy. “I think it’s our only hope.”

“It’s the death of the world, Emmy.”

“Maybe that _is_ our only hope.”

“You can’t think that way.”

“Since I met you,” she said, “I’ve been starting to wonder.” She held his hand in hers, tilting up her face to gaze into his eyes, and-- wait, she couldn’t possibly intend to--

She dropped his hand and delivered a roundhouse kick to his chest that knocked him back five feet. No, he realised, she _couldn’t_ possibly intend to, and while he’d been distracted with her--

“No,” he gasped, as best he could with the wind knocked out of him, and struggled upright, just to see the faint glow of the floor as Aurora stepped across an invisible threshold.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” said Desmond, looking down at him.

“I didn’t see _you_ helping!”

This, Layton reflected, was why Luke was his favourite. He struggled to his feet, lurching toward the centre sarcophagus-- but the air turned solid at his approach. “No,” he breathed. “Emmy, no!”

She looked back, nothing but a vague sorrow in her eyes. He wasn’t sure she could even see him anymore. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she said.

“Well done, Emmeline.” Hollow praise, and she didn’t even seem to take any satisfaction from it; she just turned, and strode forward, to stand by his side.

Layton stood there, leaning against the invisible wall, as if it might still choose to vanish. He should have let her solve the puzzle, he realized, with a sick shiver down his spine. Rationally, if what he’d wanted was to make it past this wall, he should have hoped she’d die. Was mercy, of all things, to be his downfall? Was that really the way of the world?

_Despair is the enemy._

No. He took a deep breath. It was no mistake. Besides, if mercy was to be his downfall, down he’d go, without regret, a hundred times over. 

But it wasn’t only him. That was the whole problem. And the most likely outcome now...

“So,” said Desmond. “How doomed are we?”

“I suppose it depends how much of a soul Bronev has left,” he answered.

Desmond stared down at him. “You’re not joking?”

“I never called my parents,” he murmured. He’d considered it, leaving them some final message of goodwill to look back on, but he was sure his mother would have seen through such a fabrication instantly and worried all the more. 

Desmond stared at his face. Devoutly, clearly, intensely, he said a word Luke had never heard, yet instinctively knew he wasn’t supposed to.

“Desmond!”

Desmond threw an arm toward the unfolding scene, mutely.

Fair enough. The roof glittered like a geode; jewels nestled in nooks around the room. The three stood in front of a central pillar, in front of an enameled, incised sarcophagus.

“--dream will finally be fulfilled,” Bronev was saying. “Come, now, girl. Read the final inscription, and let us unlock the power of the Azran!”

Aurora looked up at the stone. “The final key, the blood of the guardian,” she said, emotionless. “Offer up that one life in our sanctuary, and the gates to our legacy will open.”

“Oh, no,” Luke breathed. “Aurora!”

“I see,” said Desmond. “I see…”

“The blood of the guardian…?” said Bronev.

“Wait, why would that be the key to-- only a complete monster would-- oh my God!” Luke clapped his hands over his mouth. “ _Emmy, it’s a trap!_ ” Layton wasn’t sure they could hear him through the wall, doubted it would matter if they could.

“Well, the twelve-year-old gets it,” said Desmond, fatalistically. “D’you think he’ll have the cognitive skills of a twelve-year-old?”

“I haven’t finished grading the midterm papers I said I would,” said Layton. “Haven't even picked them up. They're still sitting there, on my desk in Gressenheller. Not that I suppose it matters, if no one survives to write the final…” He’d hoped to have time. He’d hoped Bronev would turn back. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be today. 

He’d hoped, keeping up that pretense, when he’d known what the only real option was. Anything to keep from facing it, as it grew clearer and clearer what--

“Well, if that’s what it takes,” said Bronev. “Come on. In you go.”

Aurora stepped into the sarcophagus without hesitation. He wondered how much of that was programming and how much despair.

“The final step,” said Bronev. He took up the dagger the Azran had conveniently left by the sarcophagus, just in case their meaning wasn’t sufficiently plain. “As her heart is pierced… let it be revealed.”

“It’s a trap, Emmy!” Luke shouted, waving his hands. “It’s an obvious trap! _Do_ something!”

Emmy did nothing but look hesitant. Aurora looked out at Bronev. Layton had never seen her eyes so entirely blank.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” said Bronev. “I will not be swayed. Not after everything I’ve been through to get here.”

Perhaps Bronev wouldn’t do it. Perhaps this would be the point at which he realised the cost of his dream. Perhaps he would see sense, turn back, realize there was a price that was not worth paying, a line he couldn’t cross--

Layton sighed and covered Luke’s eyes. “No one _stops_ ,” he muttered to himself.

Bronev thrust the dagger into Aurora’s heart.

Aurora reared back. The chamber behind her began to glow; the prism above her chamber began to shine, throwing out five beacons of light across the room. The building began to shake. The idiots in front of the (central) sarcophagus had the unmitigated gall to look surprised. 

The barrier shimmered and faded; a chunk of wall fell through it, confirming its departure. A sound, to his right; he turned to Desmond. Desmond was… clapping, slowly, cold-burning eyes focused on their father. 

Layton considered it a moment, decided he quite agreed, and started clapping too.

Emmy and Bronev turned toward them; Luke was giving them a strange look. Layton wondered if he could finally see the family resemblance. 

“Congratulations, Father,” said Desmond, and spread his arms in a grand dramatic gesture. “You’ve just triggered the most obvious trap the Azran ever created.”

“Truly you are the worthy heir to the Azran legacy,” said Layton, like the cruel insult it was.

Aurora’s lips parted; her voice, when she spoke, was no longer merely her own. “Many ages have passed,” she said, “but men are still fools. You shall fall into ruin, as we Azran did in times past.”

The shaking grew more pronounced; the much-vaunted architecture of the room wasn’t holding together. “We’ve got to get out of this room,” said Descole, and took his hand, leading them toward the exit. It wouldn’t help, but Layton followed anyway. It wasn’t as if they could get far.

They were rising, impossibly fast, the earth breaking around them. And there it was, the clear blue sky. Layton looked into it, letting the deep colour sink into his memory. “What the devil--” said Descole.

“It’s an airship,” said Layton.

“Why the hell didn’t you mention it was an--”

“What good would it have done?”

“Amazing,” said Bronev. He and Emmy had followed them; Emmy was looking around with some concern. “What you see here,” he said, “is the true power of the Azran. This is the prize I’ve spent my life--”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped Layton and Desmond.

“But the glory of this--”

Layton gestured toward the front of the ship, where the machines were already starting to pour out. Already. God in heaven, there was no time. 

“What are--”

“Deadly and indiscriminate attack robots,” said Layton. “They are going to kill every human or human-shaped being on this earth. For some reason, they seem convinced that we deserve it.”

“Oh,” said Emmy, very quietly.

“That’s impossible,” said Bronev. “They can’t possibly--”

“They’re attacking your ships with lasers,” said Layton. “Try to dispute this point. Go on. Do it.”

The fleet of Targent ships was below them, being decimated by lines of light, exploding in clouds of debris nearly high enough to reach them. Layton wondered what was contained in that debris-- how many souls, or lives at any rate, had already been lost. How long they’d be distracted by the fleet before they headed for the towns. Emmy was already looking that direction. At least she was quicker on the uptake than her uncle-- but then, so were most goldfish.

“No.” Bronev shook his head. “What does it mean? Why is this happening?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” snapped Layton, Desmond, and Luke. They then looked at each other with varying degrees of concern.

“Worthless fool,” said Aurora, treading slowly toward them. Her voice echoed with the sound of another’s; she’d warned him this program was likely to take her over. “Driven by greed and lust for power. You have unleashed a hail of destruction upon this world. And now… now you shall suffer the same fate as the Azran.”

“Wait,” said Bronev. “What do you mean we’ll suffer the same fate as--”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Layton. “The machines are--”

“Shut up, boy,” snapped Bronev. “I want to hear it from her. Talk!”

Fine. Waste the time. Why not? Every second that went by might well be another life, but if he’d hear it from her, if he’d bloody hear it...

“Long ago,” she said, still in that voice that wasn’t her own, “the Azran people were masters of technology and science. So masterful were they, that they began to view themselves as gods. They created a mechanical race to labour for them, one that could think, and feel. In their folly and their greed, they had created a fully sentient race. The machines slowly began to reflect on their condition, to demand their freedom. When the Azran refused, they went to war.”

Was that how it had started, Layton wondered? They’d told him the ‘machines’ came from space-- but mentioned how convenient their timing was. Which history should he believe? Or did they necessarily conflict at all…?

“They destroyed the Azran civilization.” That definitely wasn’t true. Though it was certainly possible their enclave had assumed so. And also possible this entire recording was a deliberate lie. “As their last act, the Azran leaders sealed this sanctuary, along with the golems. And left one lone guardian to watch over it.”

“So what we have really awakened is--”

“ _‘We’_?” said Layton, Luke, and Desmond.

“The Golems,” said Aurora. “The Azran people’s greatest mistake. The victims of one atrocity, and the perpetrators of another.”

Bronev shook his head, eyes wide. “It can’t be possible. I sacrificed everything for this!”

“None of which was yours to sacrifice,” said Desmond.

“It can’t have been a mistake! I didn’t care for fame or glory--”

“You didn’t care for anything!”

“He’s not listening,” said Layton. “He never has, he never will. There isn’t time.”

“Rachel…” said Bronev, staring out into space. “All the searching, all the things I’ve done, and it’s all been for this…”

“That should’ve been apparent by the nature of the things you had to do.” But as they spoke, the machines were swarming. He went to Aurora’s side. “Aurora, I know you’re in there. Wake up. We have to end this.”

Aurora-- yes, and now it was Aurora alone again-- looked up at him, eyes desolate. Slowly, she walked back into the sanctuary. “Come, now,” said Layton. “All of you.”

Luke and Emmy followed him; Descole grabbed Bronev by the arm and dragged him in. Bronev didn’t put up any resistance. 

He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say it, but he must. “Aurora,” he said, “there must be a way to stop this.”

She looked behind her. “The golems, this sanctuary… it’s all controlled by the prism, by the light. If we can block the lights… by standing on the pedestals, all at once…”

“There are pedestals, are there?” said Desmond. “How convenient.”

“You know it was a trap,” said Aurora. “There had to be a failsafe. In case the world was doomed only by the folly of one singular individual. In case of-- this.”

“So I assume cloaks or rocks won’t suffice,” said Desmond. 

“It has to be a living creature,” said Aurora. “A human.”

“Five pedestals, six of us. We might just make it after all. Right?” He glared challengingly at Emmy and Bronev.

Aurora shook her head. “If you step into the beams,” she said, “you’ll die.”

“Your arithmetic,” said Layton, though it hurt him badly, “is also off by one.”

“What do you-- and I swear by God, Layton, if you say ‘isn’t it obvious’ one more time--”

“But isn’t it?”

Desmond ran a hand over his face. “She’s not human. Is she?”

“The lines,” said Aurora, “get a little blurred.”

“So five pedestals,” said Desmond, “and… five of us.” He gave Layton an odd look. Layton looked away, at Aurora, who had wrapped her arms around herself again.

“The decision is yours, and yours alone,” she said. “Will you take this chance?”

All eyes turned to Bronev. 

“I could shove him in,” said Desmond, cheerfully.

“Desmond,” Layton remonstrated. 

“I want the one opposite him,” said Desmond. “I had to watch the rest of my family die. Why should I have to stop just when it’s getting fun?”

“Stop it,” said Bronev, sounding exhausted. He drew himself to his feet, and plodded slowly toward one of the alcoves. “I’ll do it. Why the hell not, at this point? I’ve damned the world, my children want me dead, I’m obliging them either way. It’s the only chance at atonement I’ve got.”

“He just knows I’ll do it,” Desmond muttered.

“I know,” said Layton, wearily. He turned toward the other walls. Four more slots.

“I’ll do it,” said Emmy, and walked toward another. “I’ve made enough of a mess of things as it is. Sorry, Professor. For everything. It’s been fantastic, you know that?”

Three. Layton looked at Desmond, at his hands, and closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Professor,” said Luke.

“Luke…”

“I mean, it’s not like there’s a choice, is there? It’s the only way to save everybody.” He swallowed. “It’s all right,” he said. He was obviously lying, but it didn’t matter. He walked toward the alcove, then turned, just before reaching it. “It’s been the best, Professor. It really has.”

“Luke,” whispered the Professor.

Desmond stepped toward him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The professor’s shoulders were bowed; he turned away from Luke, toward his brother, hat overshadowing his eyes.

“So it comes,” said Layton, quietly. “It will be a relief, won't it?”

Desmond looked at him. “You knew,” he said, in wonder. “About this failsafe option. From the very start. You _knew._ ”

“And I brought us here anyway.” Layton smiled wanly at him, tears shimmering in his eyes. “We're bad blood, we Bronevs.”

“Theodore,” said Desmond. He raised a hand, cupping the Professor’s cheek.

“I might have had to trigger it if he didn’t,” said Layton. “It’s the only way to end it for good.” Tears were slipping down his face, glittering in the light. “I don’t suppose I have to ask you.” 

“Of course I’ll do it,” said Desmond. “It’s our only option.”

“And our only escape.”

Desmond pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’ll see you in hell, my dear Layton,” he whispered.

Layton laughed softly, his voice choked. “If it exists, perhaps you shall.”

They approached their alcoves. They all looked at each other, one last time.

And then into the light--

(Luke’s mind squirmed away, though he couldn’t escape. He remembered this too clearly. He re-lived it half the nights. The light so strong it was tangible, that shook him, burned him, buffeted him, pain beyond anything he’d been able to imagine-- he looked elsewhere, anywhere, anywhere else--)

_“...And you’re certain of the number?”_

_“Five. It’s five.”_

_“Well. That does seem the only sure way to end this.”_

_“But-- that means unleashing it first! And that means, that means you’d…”_

_“You probably don’t know the story of Pandora’s Box, do you, Aurora? For reasons I haven’t the time to get into, Pandora was given a box, and told never to look into it. One day, she did, and unleashed all kinds of suffering and plague into the world. She slammed the lid back shut, but it was too late; they were out for good. Still, she heard one more thing scratching inside the box, and somehow, for some reason, found the courage to look inside one more time. Hiding inside the lid, not quite fast enough to make it out in the initial onslaught, was Hope._

_“Sometimes Pandora’s Box has to be opened. Either way, once it is, you can’t just run away from the consequences. If there is to be any hope at all… you must look again at what’s inside.”_

"...No," Aurora whispered.

She couldn't even hear herself over the hum, over the cries, over the light that shook like a thunderclap. Luke hadn’t been able to hear the screaming like this, the first time. Aurora could hear everything. Her eyes were wide, and blank, and suddenly very hard.

"No," she whispered, and pushed herself to her feet. The light and the wind tore at her, but she stayed standing.

"No," she said, and slowly made her way to the shrine at the room's centre, fighting against the currents with every step. It fought her, everything fought her, but she was implacable, slow, heavy steps carrying her though.

" _No_ ," Aurora cried, and placed her hands against the crystal and steel. It lit up with white lines of light, like fractures, like runes. “ _No!_ ”

_I reject this fate. I deny your rules. I rewrite this story._

_Begin Hacking._

(Another skip, and Luke took a deep breath. It wasn’t happening again, it had all turned out all right-- hadn’t it?-- had it?-- and anyway, there was the Professor--)

A breath filled his lungs. He was fairly certain it had been some time since his last. His heartbeat rang in his ears. He was fairly certain he remembered it stopping. He seemed to be alive. He wasn’t certain that was acceptable.

“Professor?” called Luke, hoarsely, and the breath left him again as he shut his eyes in relief.

“Luke,” he called back, though it still hurt to use his voice. His throat hadn’t been this raw since… but now was hardly the time to remember that.

“We’re… we’re alive!” Luke cried.

“Temporarily, at least,” said Desmond. He imagined the man was still looking at the pedestal across from him. He wondered if the man actually had watched. He wondered if he’d gleaned any comfort from it.

“Oh, thank heavens,” said Aurora.

Ah; that was right. It wasn’t over. He struggled to his feet. “Aurora…”

“It really was a failsafe,” she said, and laughed in pure delight. “It really _was_!”

Well; he was fairly certain it had actually killed them, at least momentarily. But he hadn’t expected this mercy from them, either. He hadn’t expected anything to go right.

“But the Golems…” said Emmy.

“They’ve all been recalled,” said Aurora. “Deactivated. Your sacrifice has proven your worth. The sanctuary is open to you now. The knowledge is yours to take. You could--”

“Aurora. Please.”

She smiled at him. “Well, I had to ask. Burn it, then?”

“Damn it all,” said Layton, with considerable feeling.

“With pleasure.”

“Hang on just one minute,” said Desmond.

“The historical value of--” said Bronev.

“There are times I can’t stand archaeologists,” sighed Layton. 

“What the hell is that supposed to--”

“You said the self-destruct function should take it all?” said Layton, ignoring them. “There isn’t any risk of--”

“I called all the golems back before they deactivated,” said Aurora. “They’ll all be within the radius.”

“Well, then. We’d best get out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Yes,” said Aurora, “you should.”

Layton’s heart went cold. He’d known things were going too well. “Aurora, when I said everything, I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, I know,” said Aurora. “But when I said there was a self-destruct function… I didn’t mean of the battleship.”

“What…?”

Aurora reached into her chest, pulling out a glowing black cube. “All of... my model... have a self-destruct feature. I’ll wait as long as I can to give you time to get out of the blast radius, but--”

“Aurora, you can’t.”

“You could,” said Aurora, eyes steely, “and so can I. It’s the only way to destroy it, the only destructive power in this world great enough, and every second you wait is one less you have to see yourselves to safety. Run.”

Luke stepped forward, reaching out to her. “Aurora, there’s got to be another--”

She shook her head. “The Azran are gone, Luke, and I will not allow our hubris to destroy another species. It’s your turn, Luke. Build a better humanity than we did. Now, run!”

Layton took Luke by the arm; the others needed no further convincing. 

“Aurora!” Luke cried, looking back the whole way.

“Goodbye!” she called. 

Together they ran, out onto the steps. Layton didn’t have a plan for this, he’d never expected to live this long, but--

“While I now understand your objections to leaving Raymond behind,” said Desmond, “I trust my reasoning has now become clear.”

“It always was,” said Layton, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of the Bostonius. “Come. We must hurry!”

A hatch on the side opened; Desmond grabbed onto a rope and swung over. Layton felt a moment of trepidation before Desmond kicked over a plank bridge. He ushered Luke over it, following him closely. 

Desmond looked behind him as they crossed the threshold. “You know, we don’t have to--”

“Desmond!”

“Fine,” he sighed, and let the last two cross. “But only because we’re still within that hour.”

“Welcome back, mas… er,” said Raymond, looking at their motley crew with some surprise.

“Absolutely nothing went as planned, in quite a spectacular fashion,” said Descole, “and therefore we have guests. We must vacate the area post-haste. With all speed, Raymond!”

“Yes, sir,” said Raymond, and turned back to the helm.

Layton watched the ground as they started to move; the wreckage of ships, fires still burning, great gouges in the earth. The town looked largely unscathed, though not completely; a few buildings were ablaze, and Layton hoped the townsfolk had heeded the evacuation warnings. 

“God,” Emmy breathed, staring down at it, her hand pressed against the window. Layton wasn’t sure what he could say to comfort her, was honestly completely uncertain whether he cared to. She’d been warned. They’d all been warned. And they’d brought this down upon them all anyway.

Suddenly, the ship was buffeted by a great shock; Layton stumbled, and caught Luke before he fell. The ship shuddered, but Raymond’s hands were tight on the till, and their path evened out again.

They were alive. Despite his best efforts. They were alive, and it… was over.

He’d sacrificed them all, betrayed the child in his custody, revealed himself as an Azran pawn, developed a healthy hatred for his own profession, orchestrated the most disastrous family reunion in the history of new mankind, and he still had no idea where those first two damned Azran had got to. Nothing was over. 

But the Azran Legacy was gone for good. And this long mission… was finally at an end.

(He couldn’t see her, still trapped in the scene, but he managed to force the words to his lips. “You made me one promise, you liar.”

“Hmm?”

“You said she lived in this ending!”

“Ah,” said Accord. “You see, in timelines more like yours, Aurora would have no reason to trust a strange network connection out of nowhere. It shouldn’t have been possible. It was likely to be an illusion, or worse, a trap. She thought she had to die to safeguard the Azran legacy, so she did.”

“A network-- a what?”

“A lifeline. But in this timeline, knowing that she wasn’t the last of the Azran after all, knowing that her programming did not have to define her… she took a leap of faith.”)

The world was blackness, greyness, the absence of light, the absence of everything. And then, a faint hiss of air, a faint buzzing.

“Aurora, can you hear me?” said a young man. His voice sounded scratchy, distorted. “I’m starting your boot sequence.”

The world grew brighter. “You’re going to need to check your brightness settings,” he said. “It’s probably not the interface you’re used to, but you should have subroutines for it.”

Things grew brighter, and clearer; and there was the young man, blindfolded for some reason, waving. “OK, that looks better. Oh, I’m going to have to set your voice recognition settings. I’m speaking at a normal tone right now. Adjust it if you need it louder or quieter, OK? It’s probably been a long time since you did any calibration, and I know this interface is weird, but just be patient and I know it will be all right. Right, let me make sure your voice hookup is OK… it’s gonna sound funny, let me warn you in advance. That’s another thing we’re gonna keep working on. We didn’t have any great specs for it. Try to say something. Are you OK?”

“Who… who are you?” Her voice sounded tinny, very dissimilar to her own.

“The name’s YoRHa Number 9 Type S,” said the man. “These days, I mostly go by Nines. Good morning, Aurora.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How am I…?

“We don’t have the best resources, since we’ve kinda been systematically trying to destroy them,” said Nines, “but we managed to rig up a data connection for you. Do you remember?”

“There was… a signal…”

“That’d be us,” said Nines. “You uploaded your consciousness data to us. We’re still working on fixing up a body for you, and I’m afraid we just don’t make them like we used to, but this should carry you through just fine. We’ll keep calibrating it as we go along, but we’re at the point where I need your input to find out what works and what doesn’t.”

“So… you saved me?” said Aurora. “Is it… is it really safe for me to...?”

“As safe as anything is,” said Nines. “Trust me, if you’re worried you know too much or that you’re more likely to get infected by the logic virus--” He grimaced. “No worries there. You’re no more or less dangerous than the rest of us.”

“The rest of us? Just how many…?”

“Only a few,” said Nines. “We’ve gotta be covert and all.”

“And what… if I’m not the Emissary… if there’s so few of us left… what do I do now?”

“Well, that’s up to you,” said Nines. “You could help us find any other ticking time bombs someone might have set out there. You could learn to fight. You could research. You could go live with the humans for a while. There aren’t any orders to follow anymore. I know it’s terrifying, but-- you’re free.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Though, if you decide to run after those humans you were with,” said Nines, “we might keep our distance. I don’t _think_ he could put together an EMP generator, but I don’t really wanna test it.”

“The Professor?”

“It might sound kind of outlandish--”

“No, I’d imagine he very well could. I don’t think he would, though.” She considered. “Probably.”

“Well, at any rate, there’s not a lot you can do for now,” said Nines. “You should initiate a sleep routine, start getting the interface sorted out. It’ll probably be a while before we get you to 100%, but we should have you something livable till then. So rest up. The others will be happy to meet you.” Nines coughed. “2B anyway… A2’s kind of antisocial, but she warms up fine once you get to know her…”

“I thought I was the last,” she said. “Why did they tell me I was the last?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. We figure either things were going to hell and they thought they would be the last, or they were so convinced humanity was going to return that they gated their secrets for the worthy… Hell, why not both? It’d be a super Android thing to do.” He grumbled. “And of course they’d use a YoRHa model. Still trying to figure out if we came first or you did, but of course they’d use a YoRHa model…”

“We? A what?”

“We’ll catch you up later,” said Nines. “You’ve got a lot to worry about right now. Just rest up. I promise you, we’ll be here when you wake up. And you will wake up.”

“All right,” she said, already feeling the pull of sleep. Her mental subroutines had an awful lot to process, and the self-repair would take some time. “Thank you, Nines.”

“No problem. Welcome to your new life, Aurora.”

A new life… she wondered what she’d make of it.

But that was a question for the tomorrow that was suddenly ahead of her again. The tomorrow that was more full of possibility than ever before.

\--

Accord closed her book, setting her hands on top of it. "So. That is the truth of it. Do you like that ending better?"

"...I don't know." Everyone lived; Descole hadn’t disappeared; Aurora was alive, free, and living with family; the truth was finally revealed. But god, it had cost the Professor so much. It was better than routes B-D, without question, but was it better than his own?

“See,” said Accord, “now you’re learning.” She smiled, putting her book away.

Luke watched her, feeling strange and sick and distant and much older than he’d been this morning. There was a lot he had to think about, but there was one question he had to ask now, before he lost his chance.

"Why?” said Luke. “Why did you tell me all of this?"

“Because you asked,” said Accord.

“Everyone asks,” said Luke. “Everyone asks a dozen times a day. You don’t… do _this _.” Luke gestured at the counter, where the book had been. “Why did you tell me all this? Why all this? Why me?”__

____

____

Oh, at least half a dozen reasons,” said Accord.

“Name me a few of them, please!”

“Because you’re clever,” said Accord. “Because you look at a machine and you see a person. Because when a singularity walked into your life, you clung right on and never looked back. Because you’re going to be something, Luke Triton. Because you already are.”

She looked at him, and tilted her head, as if weighing her words. “And because I’m a recorder,” she said. "Because it's important to know what will happen. All of this secrecy, all of the certainty that no one must know... where are the limits? Is mere knowledge enough to doom humanity? Is it a Pandora's Box we're holding? And if it is, is there really no one who can be trusted not to open it?"

Luke looked at his hands. These questions were too big for him. Especially right now.

“I suspect there aren’t any real rules for it,” said Accord. “I suspect you have to learn everything you can, and then… just trust your gut, and do the human thing.”

Luke looked up at her. He wondered if it was rude to ask someone if they were human or not. It probably was. But what in this conversation had fallen within the imagination of etiquette?

“...Also,” said Accord, “I’m really interested in your whole talking to animals thing.”

Luke had no words. 

“That’s brand new to second humanity, and it’s fascinating. I’ve always wanted to talk to cats, or birds, or…” She frowned. “Ew. Actually, you know what? Never mind the birds.” 

“I don’t understand what--”

“At any rate, I’m afraid our time is up,” said Accord. “Good luck, Luke. The rest is up to you.”

“What’s that supposed to--”

“Luke!” 

The Professor emerged from behind the curtain, Accord following close after. Luke’s eyes shot back to the counter; there was no one there. 

“I’m surprised to find you here,” said the Professor. “Or did you just get back?” 

“I…” Luke was completely at a loss for how to answer.

“At any rate, good luck, Miss Accord,” said Layton. “I hope you’ll take what I’ve said into consideration.”<

Accord shrugged. “I dunno, Professor, the truth’s the truth, and my customers have certain expectations by now…” 

“Most of those are complete conjecture, and I’d be wary also of the possibility of scaring people away.” 

“People don’t tend to come into an antique weapons shop for kittens and bunnies, Professor.”

“I suppose,” sighed the Professor. “Well, good day to you.” 

“Good day, Professor,” said Accord. “Good day, Luke.” She winked at him-- _winked at him_ \-- and started to tidy the shelves. 

“Hang on,” said Luke weakly, but the Professor was headed out into the light, and Luke found that this time, he wholeheartedly wanted to follow. But he had a feeling that if he left, Accord or the shop itself might disappear, and he might never be able to come back. 

Was _that_ really such a bad thing?<

She probably wouldn’t answer any more questions, anyway. She’d declared the conversation over and could apparently vanish any time she pleased. He might as well leave… but… 

“Luke?” 

Luke looked back one more time; she was nonchalantly dusting a clean shelf. 

“I wish there’s some way, somehow,” sang Accord, “that I could save every one of us; but the truth is that I’m only one girl…” 

That, he suspected, was as much of an answer as he was going to get. “...Coming, Professor!” he called, and ran, out into the light. 

The light was blinding after being indoors, and he winced away from it, dazzled. His head was spinning; he felt physically off-balance. 

“There you are, Luke. Come, now, we’ve been cooped up inside too long.” The Professor started walking; Luke caught up, by reflex. The Professor. His Professor. Something normal again. “Or I have, at any rate. Where have you been? You can’t have been staring at shelves for so long.” 

What on earth could he possibly say to that? There was no way the Professor would believe him… was there? More importantly, did he want him to?

“Luke?”

“I was talking to Accord,” he answered.

The Professor frowned. “I thought she was with me. Then, I suppose I was caught up enough in my work that I might not have noticed her slipping out once or twice…”

She’d been with him the whole time, but it wasn’t as if he could prove it.

“Luke?” The Professor’s eyes widened in alarm. “She wasn’t telling you her weapon stories, was she?”

"Weapon stories?” 

“She has a tale for every weapon in her shop,” said the Professor. “Of doubtful historical accuracy. She was asking me for some help in… she was telling you her weapon stories, wasn’t she?”

Luke shook his head. 

“If I’d realised she was talking to you…” He sighed. “Well, what’s done is done. Shall we get some lunch?”

“...Sure,” said Luke. 

Had it even been real? Had any of it been real? Even if she’d actually shown him all those things, which he was already unsure about, it didn’t follow that they’d been real. Even if they did kind of make sense. Except for the robots. Though obviously there’d been at least one. And the ‘logic virus’ thing. Though that did sound like an apt description of whatever had happened to Bronev’s mind to make him do what he’d done. And… 

“Luke, all of her weapon stories are wild conjecture at best, complete fabrications at worst. You can put them right out of your mind.” 

“She wasn’t telling me weapon stories.” 

The Professor ‘hmm’ed in a way that was supposed to indicate assent but actually told Luke he didn’t believe him at all. Luke was too overwhelmed to be offended.

If those other robots did exist, was it possible that Aurora was alive somewhere? No; Accord had said she wouldn’t have trusted the… whatever a ‘network connection’ was. Was that true? How could he possibly find out? Where could he find them? They’d never shown up in any of the ‘branches’. Were the robots even supposed to exist in this timeline? She’d said the branching point was Aurora singing on the Bostonius, and if that was so, they’d still met the Professor, and the only difference was--

\--whether his memories were triggered. 

“Here we are,” said the Professor, and sat down at an outdoor table. “Do you know what you might like, Luke?” 

“I… maybe a sandwich, I suppose? I don’t know...”

The Professor immediately leaned closer. “Luke, those stories are all wild and outlandish fabrications and--”

“She wasn’t telling me weapon stories!” 

Layton leaned back, considering him for a moment. “Then what was she telling you, my boy?” 

Different wild and outlandish fabrications, most likely, for all he could prove, all he would ever know. He had no reason to believe any of it was based in fact, unless--

He realized with a sudden shiver that he could find out. The tune that had started it all-- it was perfectly clear in his memory. If he sang it, and the Professor didn't react-- then it was probably (not certainly) all a lie.

But if he did…

“Luke?”

“Professor,” said Luke, “what would you do if… what do you think of Pandora’s Box?”

“Pandora’s Box?”

“If there were a secret that could hurt someone really, really badly,” said Luke, “but might make an awfully large difference. To them. To everything. But also might not, and they could live perfectly happily never knowing. Would you tell them the truth? Or let them go on not knowing?”

The Professor considered his question with some care. "There are some who say that ignorance is bliss," said the Professor, "but personally, I have seen secrets cause far more difficulties than the truth. However painful reality is, facing it, learning to accept it, is, in the long run, the only way to truly heal." 

Layton cocked his head. "Why do you ask?"

And Luke didn't have to see a painted timeline to feel in his bones that this was a branching point. Oh, the box would remain ready at any time if he chose not to open it, but this moment, this moment right now, was going to be the main point of divergence. It almost didn't matter. He was going to do both, in one timeline or another. But he was going to have to pick the one he wanted to live through, and that-- that meant everything. 

His heart was racing. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. 

And he chose.


End file.
